When all is said and done
by darkmoore05
Summary: Set before AHBL. Sam has developed some new abilities and deals with the YED in his own way. With consequences... AU, SLASH, WINCEST! Dubious consent, Mild spoilers for season 3 WARNING: Starts out quite angsty, but I promise a happy end
1. When all is said and done

Disclaimer: Not mine. I just want to play with them.

Beta: My sister, Cass, who demanded this story to be longer and threatened to stand behind me with a whip if I don't expand it!

AN: This is an AU. It's set before "All Hell Breaks Loose", meaning Sam never died and Dean never had to make that deal. Also, in my universe, the yellow-eyed-demon can read minds.

Sam snapped his cell-phone shut and suppressed a sigh. He had either done the most stupid thing ever, sealing Dean's and his own fate, or he had saved a great deal of lives. It didn't matter either way. There was no going back now. "Dean," he yelled, standing right in front of the shut bathroom door "get out here, I found us a job, we need to go _now_."

Dean came out of the bathroom a moment later, towel wrapped around his waist and a disbelieving look on his face. "Now? Damn it, Sammy, couldn't you have said that _before_ I took the shower? Why do we need to hurry anyway? What do we have?" Dean asked while grabbing his clothes. He sounded more than just a little pissed and Sam took a deep breath. While Dean enjoyed a good hunt, he actually didn't like to be kept in the dark about what was going on. Going blindly into a hunt meant Dead wouldn't feel as is he was prepared enough to protect Sam. But that couldn't be helped this time.

"I'll tell you on the way. Right now we really need to get going or we're gonna be late. Trust me on this, Dean, okay? All you'll need is your gun and some faith in me…" Sam hoped he didn't sound as desperate to Dean as he did to his own ears.

"Yeah, sure, faith," Dean murmured, pulling on his jacket with angry movements. "If this is some kind of prank, I'll get back at you for this. You're a fucking pain in the ass. You know that, right? Why don't you tell me what we got?" Dean asked again, grabbing the car keys and heading for the door.

"I told you, Dean, I'll fill you in on the way. We really don't have the time to argue now. Just go with it, this time, okay? You can yell at me later." At least Sam _hoped_ there would be a later for both of them.

oooooOooooo

Dean fumed. Sam hadn't told him anything useful, besides the fact that they were meeting with someone who had information a demonic possession; and the directions where to drive to. Otherwise his brother was suspiciously quiet.

When they finally arrived at the out of the way field Sam had directed him to, Dean couldn't make out another car. There was just a lonesome figure, clearly visible in the light the Impala's headlights gave off. So, maybe this wasn't a prank after all.

Sam got out of the car and Dean hurried to do the same. He didn't know the first thing about the person Sam had set up this meeting with and he wouldn't want to risk Sam getting hurt. Whoever this was, Dean wouldn't allow Sam to face him alone. Weapon tucked into the back of his jeans safely, Dean moved to stand beside his brother.

"I see you've kept your word, Samuel," the middle aged man they were facing said without preamble. "I really didn't think this day would come. You've fought me so hard, the both of you did. I didn't think I would be able to get _you_ on my side. You're my favourite, you know?"

"Yeah, I know. That's why I'm here. I want what you have to offer. But remember our deal. Dean is off limits. He gets hurt by any of your little soldiers, all bets are off," Sam replied calmly and made to move towards the stranger.

"What the hell is going on here, Sam?" he shouted, panic gripping him. Something cold and nasty settled into the pit of Dean's stomach when, a second later, he saw the bright yellow gleam in the man's eyes. This couldn't be happening. Sam hadn't sent him into a trap. Sam didn't truly want to follow this son of a bitch that had killed both of their parents. This had to be some sort of sordid nightmare.

The weapon was in his hand before he even realized it. He aimed at the yellow-eyed-demon, despite the fact that he knew a bullet wouldn't do any damage to that son of a bitch. Not really anyway. As Dean watched, the demon grinned broadly, putting an arm around Sam's shoulders in a perverted farce of camaraderie.

"Little Sammy here and I have a deal," he said. "He joins my ranks as the leader of my army and you, Dean Winchester, get to live without any threads to your life. I'll make sure that such a thing, like your run in with Meg and her little pets won't happen again. I think that's a very generous offer from me. I'm putting my children in danger after all," he grinned maliciously.

Dean's heart began to pound. This couldn't be. "Sammy, please, what's going on? What is he talking about? He can't be serious," Dean choked out, hating how desperate he sounded.

"Oh, but it is true, Dean," Sam answered, sounding disinterested and bored. "I'm going with him."

There was a sharp stab of pain in Dean's chest at Sam's words and Dean felt as if his world would collapse. His weapon was now alternately aiming at Sam and the yellow-eyed-demon; who started to laugh.

"Oh please, Dean, don't act so surprised. You knew this would happen eventually. Daddy told you so, remember? He even told you that you might have to kill Sammy here. But we both know you're not capable of that, don't we? He's all that is left of your family now. He is your everything. And now he's gonna leave you. He's gonna leave you just like your mom and your dad left you. Because you are a failure, Dean. You had but _one_ task, Dean and that was to keep Sammy here safe. And you failed. Pity that." The demon's tone was mocking and the truth of his words cut into Dean like a knife. He had failed. He wouldn't be able to kill Sam, no matter what. And the demon knew it.

With the last bit of strength he could still muster, Dean firmly aimed his gun on the yellow-eyed-demon again.

"You wanna shoot _me_ now?" the demon mocked, taking a step forward and opening his arms wide. "Please, be my guest. This one's on the house. All you're gonna do is kill this host and I'll go and take Sammy here for a while. But it's alright. I guess it's only fair, considering I'm gonna take your Sammy from you. What do you think, Sam? Should your brother shoot me with his pretty little gun? Would you mind to share your body with me for a while?" He turned around a bit to look at Sam, who just smiled.

"No, I don't mind at all. Go ahead, Dean. Shoot him. Do it, Dean," Sam replied, his eyes fixed on his brother now.

Dean almost missed it. The little gleam, that special look in Sam's eyes and suddenly something in Dean's head clicked. _All you'll need is your gun and some faith in me_ Sam had said. He'd told him what to do before Dean had known what was going on.

Without hesitation Dean pulled the trigger and shot that yellow-eyed-son-of-a-bitch right between the eyes.

And killed him.

Not just the host, but the demon as well. It was actually _dead_.

Dean's knees gave out. He collapsed, world spinning madly around him. Through the rushing of blood in his ears he heard Sam huff, "was about time, Dean." The next moment Dean threw up what little he had still in his stomach. There wasn't a lot as they hadn't had dinner yet. When Sam placed a hand on his shoulder, something in Dean snapped.

He jumped to his feet and punched Sam right into the face.

oooooOooooo

Pain exploded in Sam's jaw as Dean's fist connected to his face. Sam stumbled backwards and landed on his ass, looking at Dean with wide, worried eyes. He knew he deserved that punch, that and more. But he also hoped Dean wouldn't hit him again. He wanted to still be able to talk when Dean had cooled down enough to listen.

Right now there was so much fury – and pain – in Dean's face that Sam knew it was unlikely his brother would understand a word he said. So Sam decided to wait. He didn't have to wait long though because Dean was hauling him to his feet by the collar of his jacket, staring at him furiously.

"You lying son of a bitch. What the hell did you think you're doing? I could have shot you. I could have _killed_ you. Do you have any idea how wrong this could have gone? Are you out of your mind?" Dean yelled right into Sam's face, shaking him madly. "Dou you know what this just did to me? Seeing you join ranks with the enemy? Do you have any idea what…what…" Dean began to stammer, hands losing grip on Sam's collar. He staggered backwards, but before he turned away, Sam could see tears beginning to pool in Dean's eyes.

Sam swallowed hard. Yes, he had known it was a risk. But he had thought more about the immediate danger to their lives. He didn't think Dean would take so long, would give the demon so much time to taunt and hurt him. Sam knew this was his fault. The things the demon had said, they were Dean's thoughts. Dean's deepest fears. Sam felt like an idiot. Yes, they had won. Yes, they had finally killed the demon that had stolen their childhood and their parent's lives. But, suddenly Sam wondered if the price they'd paid, the price he had made _Dean_ pay, wasn't too high. Maybe there would have been another way. Maybe then Dean wouldn't be sitting on the hood of the Impala, rubbing his eyes angrily, trying to not break down completely. Maybe if Sam had found another way, then Dean wouldn't hate him now.

Suddenly, Sam knew what he had to do. He'd done it before, and he still felt guilty about it, but this time, Sam knew if he didn't do it, he would lose Dean. He'd lose what closeness and trust had been between them. Sam couldn't stand the thought of Dean _not_ trusting him, not …loving him.

With slow steps Sam made his way over to where Dean was sitting. Gathering the powers he had recently developed, Sam slipped into the mindset he needed to alter Dean's memories. Reluctant to do what he had decided on, Sam hesitantly cupped his brother's neck. Dean didn't look up at his touch. Good, that would make things easier for Sam.

"I'm so very sorry, Dean," Sam murmured, before he reached out to Dean's mind and in the next moment, his brother sagged against him, unconscious.

oooooOooooo

Dean groaned, squeezing his eyes shut against the ray of light that was streaming in through the insufficiently closed blinds. His head pounded and his mouth tasted like something had crawled in and died. He was obviously back at their motel room, but couldn't remember how he'd ended up there. What the _hell_ had happened?

Sam was beside his bed in an instant, running a cool hand over Dean's throbbing forehead as he sat down on the bed. "Good, you're awake. I have painkillers for you. You think you can sit up a bit to take them?" Sam asked and Dean was surprised by the soft, concerned tone of voice.

"Um, sure…" Dean replied, his throat felling dry and scratchy. He managed to sit up against the headboard, swallowing the pills Sam was handing him, gratefully. Damn, what had happened? The events of the previous day were somewhat fuzzy around the edges, blurred and kinda unreal. But Dean had to know if this had been a dream or if the demon they had been hunting all their lives really was gone. "It wasn't a dream was it?" Dean blurted out, unable to stop himself.

"No it wasn't, Dean," Sam replied and Dean was happy to see a small smile creep over his face.

"Good, because I was kinda worried. What happened? I mean, how did I do it? It's all so …fuzzy. Why is it so fuzzy, Sam?" Dean asked, sounding pretty much like a lost little kid.

Sam laughed and Dean huffed. "It's most probably because you were running a fever and collapsed right after shooting that son-of-a-bitch," Sam answered. "What do you still remember, Dean?"

Dean frowned. "I remember that we wanted to meet with someone who was supposed to give us information about a possession. It turned out to be the yellow-eyed-demon, though. He tried to get you on his side again and you yelled at me to shoot him. And I did. It worked, too. Why did it work, Sam?" Dean's pounding head made thinking hard and somehow the events of the previous night didn't make a lot of sense to him.

"Well, that is a longer story I think should wait till your head is better. How are you feeling anyway?" Sam asked, his tone still gentle and concerned.

"Like crap," Dean admitted, confused as to why he felt so bad. "Tell me what happened already. Why do I feel like I've been hit by a truck? You said I had a fever and collapsed? When did I get sick?"

"I dunno what exactly happened, Dean, but right after you shot the demon and we were about to salt and burn the body, you just… collapsed. You had a high fever and were unconscious so I finished up and brought you back here. Must have been some sort of bug I guess. Something short lived, for sure, 'cause your fever is gone," Sam explained and Dean couldn't tell why he felt something about the stuff Sam was saying was amiss. Then something else hit him.

"You drove my baby?" he asked. "Dude, if there is one scratch on her, you're gonna…"

"Your car is fine Dean," Sam snapped, interrupting him. "God dammit, you are more concerned about your car than your own health. Sometimes I don't believe you."

"She's a classic," Dean defended, swearing to himself to check his baby for any kind of damage later on. His brother's voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

"Now, if you're felling better, Dean, get your ass out of bed, I think we have something to discuss." Sam got up from the bed and headed for the bathroom. Annoyed, Dean picked the pillow from his bed and threw it at Sam's retreating form. It hit him square in the back. Dean grinned. Maybe life wasn't so bad after all, now that the yellow-eyed-demon was dead.

oooooOooooo

Two hours later found them in their motel room, sitting at the small, shabby table, facing each other. Dean had showered and shaved, feeling almost human again, the painkillers having taken away the worst of the pounding headache. Meanwhile Sam had been out and had gotten them breakfast and coffee. They really didn't need any kind of company for the conversation they were going to have.

Breakfast had been a silent, awkward affair. The fact that Sam had obviously_known_ Dean could kill the yellow-eyed-demon with his gun was hanging heavily between them. Dean hated it when Sam kept information from him, hated it when Sam had secrets. Especially when the secrets were as dangerous as the one he had obviously kept until last night. How was he supposed to keep Sam safe when Sam didn't give him all the information? How was he supposed to protect Sam when he wasn't sure what Sam needed protection from?

The gun and the bullets from last night were lying between them in the middle of the table. It was a silent accusation of the 'crime' Sam committed – sending his brother into a dangerous situation without giving him the proper information. Which was almost as bad in Dean's eyes as risking Sam's own life carelessly. Dean wouldn't let this slide. And now it was time for answers.

Dean eyed Sam warily, waiting for him to explain. He was still angry at Sam for the stunt he had pulled, but he was also scared. He was afraid that Sam had used some sort of dark ritual or whatever to enable them to kill the demon. He feared Sam had gone 'dark side' after all without Dean even noticing. Because even though they had just killed that yellow-eyed-son-of-a-bitch didn't mean Sam wasn't prepared to take over the demon army on the first occasion he got. But what scared Dean most of all was the thought that maybe Sammy was completely alright and now that the deed was done, he would leave to lead the apple pie live he had always wanted.

Dean knew if that really was what Sam wanted, he'd let him go, no matter how much it hurt. And it would hurt, that much was sure. Even the thought of not having Sam in his life constantly, of not being able to see him, tease him, talk to him each day, made Dean's stomach turn. There was something calming, steady and reassuring about the way Sam was curled beside him in the seat while Dean was driving. There was familiarity in the way his brother looked through his bangs, fooling everyone around them with a dimpled smile into believing he were just a harmless college kid. To Dean, those moments spent with Sam are_home_. And Dean had the distinct feeling that this was going to be taken away from him very soon.

"You remember that little bookstore we went to last week? The one with the old Lady selling Tarot cards and amulets?" Sam suddenly asked into the tense silence.

"Yeah what about it?" Dean replied, puzzled. The bookstore had been nothing out of the ordinary. They hadn't even purchased anything.

"I found something there. In one of the old books. Notes. A few sheets of old paper between the pages of that one book. Dean, they were Samuel Colt's notes. I found the description of how to make the colt and the bullets. It's how I 'fixed' your gun, so you could kill the demon," Sam reported excitedly.

Dean looked confused. "So, you what, you stole the notes? Wow, Sammy I didn't know that you had it in you," Dean quipped automatically. "Maybe there is still hope for you. But wait… When did you make the bullets and shit?" he asked suspiciously, anger rising. "And why did you take the risk of just changing my bullets and weapon and not telling me? What if it hadn't been the yellow-eyed-demon last night? What if it just had been one of his children? He'd have known that we could kill him and would have hunted us down…." Something in Sam's gaze told Dean that Sam hadn't actually taken that risk. That Sam somehow had known who they were gonna face. "You_knew_!" Dean snapped. "You knew it was gonna be him and you didn't warn me?" A horrible feeling crept up in Dean and he backed away from the table and Sam. "Christo!"

To Dean's great relieve Sam didn't flinch, and his eyes didn't turn black either. Instead, a sad smile crept over Sam's face and Dean's stomach clenched. Something big was going on here, he could tell. Dean sat down again reluctantly. He knew he had to calm down or Sam wouldn't tell him the whole story. If Dean wanted answers he knew he would have to be willing to listen to whatever explanation Sam was going to give him.

"I'm not possessed, Dean. And I didn't steal the notes, I bought them. You were there with me when I did. You were also present when I made the changes to your gun and your ammo. In fact, you helped me, you just don't remember any of it," Sam finally said slowly.

At this, Dean shot out of his chair again. Sam was seriously creeping him out here. Anger and panic were blooming in his chest as he stared at Sam with wide eyes, "Wait a minute. What are you saying? I _forgot_ all of that stuff? Why would I forget that? What happened? Was I possessed? But then the demon would have known... What the hell is going on here, Sam?" Dean demanded to know, his green eyes flashing angrily.

"I made you forget, Dean," Sam admitted, avoiding to look at Dean. "That is kinda the other thing I wanted to talk to you about. My… talents have…developed. I've gained a new ability. Well, _two_ actually," Sam tried to explain.

"_You_ did that to me? You messed with my head and took away my memories? Are you out of your mind? What were you thinking?" Dean yelled, getting angrier by the second. "You don't go poke around in other people's heads. Especially not mine. I'm your brother, not some guinea pig you can test your pscho mojo on. You got that?" Then something else occurred to him and Dean demanded to know, "What else? What other things did you do to me? What other 'talent' did you develop?"

"I didn't do anything else to you, Dean," Sam said defensively, deciding to not mention the manipulation to Dean's memories from the night before. "The second thing isn't really something 'active' anyway. I'm…" he hesitated, blushing a little, "I'm empathic I think…"

"Empathic?" Dean echoed, confused as to what exactly Sam wanted to say with this. Empathy wasn't something Dean would consider useful when hunting demons. Maybe _this_ talent would change somehow as well? Develop maybe? Sighing, Dean sat down on his chair again, eyeing Sam warily.

"Yes, Dean, empathic. That means I can feel other people's emotions," Sam explained. "Well, sometimes I can. I think with a bit of practice I might actually be able to manipulate them as well. Not that I'd do that. So yeah, that's it. I'm reading peoples feelings."

"I know what empathic means," Dean snapped. "I'm not as stupid as you think I am. I'm just a bit confused what good this 'power' will do you. It's not exactly a very useful gift."

Dean knew he'd pushed too far when Sam slumped, his eyes dulling. He watched as his brother closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly. Sam suddenly looked very young and drained. Dean almost felt sorry for him, when he finally said, "Listen, Dean, I know that's a lot to take in and I really don't want to have this discussion right now. How about we get some more sleep? Last night was exhausting enough for both of us and we're still not sure what sort of bug you caught: You collapsed after all. We can talk about this later and decide what to do next, then, alight?" He got up, saying, "I'm gonna grab a shower!"

"You grab your shower, I need some air," Dean replied tensely and stormed out of the motel room.

oooooOooooo

"So, let me get this straight, you let me help fix my gun and the ammo so it would kill the demon and then you just wiped my memory so that mind reading bastard wouldn't be able to know what we planned. Why couldn't he read your mind, then?" Dean asked, stabbing at his fries forcefully. They were having dinner in a little diner near their motel room.

"In a nutshell – yes. That's exactly what I did. As to why the demon couldn't read my thoughts - I'm immune to that sort of stuff. Remember, Andy's 'talents' didn't work on me, either." Sam smiled, but sobered up quickly saying, "Listen Dean, I'm sorry I had to do what I did. I wish it hadn't been necessary, but there was no other way," Sam sounded like he was truly sorry.

Dean sighed. He felt as if there was something else Sam wasn't telling him, but he couldn't put a finger on it. Still, a part of him _did_ understand Sam's motivation. "Yeah, yeah I get it. Save me the chick flick moments. We got that bastard killed, that's all that counts. Just promise me one thing, Sammy," Dean said, looking Sam straight in the eyes over the diner table they were sitting at. He needed to make sure that Sam knew that he was serious. This wasn't something he wanted a repetition of – ever.

"What do you want, Dean?" Sam asked, and his posture revealed that he had a guess what Dean was about to say.

"You will _never_ do such a thing again. No more stealing my memories, no altering my emotions, no poking around in my head. Are we clear? You do that again and things will get nasty. This is nothing you're allowed to mess around with. Swear you won't do it again, Sammy. Swear it." Dean clarified and looked at Sam expectantly.

"Yeah, Dean, I swear. I won't mess with your head again," Sam promised solemnly.

Dean grinned. "Fine, now that we've settled that, how about we go back to our room? We have weapons to adjust and ammunition to make and of course the next hunt waits for us. Now that we can kill those bastards instead of just sending them back to hell, we'll be quite busy," Dean said cheerfully, pushing his now empty plate away from himself.

Sam squirmed and hesitated. "Dean, I'm not coming with you. I mean, I'll help you with the guns and the ammunition of course, but that's it. I won't go back to hunting."

Dean stared at Sam blankly; feeling like someone had punched him in the gut. Sam was going to leave him. He was actually fucking leaving Dean behind _again_. Somehow Dean had forgotten emotional pain could physically hurt so badly. He just kept staring at Sam blankly, trying to get a grip on his emotions. He remembered that Sam had said he was empathic, so going all emo on him was probably a very bad idea. Dean had sworn to himself that he would never keep Sam from being happy. And if Sam wanted to give up hunting, if he wanted to go back to the life Dean had taken him away from almost two years ago, then that was what Sam should do. When Sam spoke again, Dean realized that he had been silent for too long, his inner battle had obviously taken longer than he'd thought.

"Dean, you knew that I was gonna leave. I told you I wouldn't live this life forever. It's over now. We did what we've been trained to do for all these years. We've completed our task. Now it's time we think about ourselves for a change. I know you're as tired of all the sacrifices we had to make, as I am. All of this is gonna change now. I can finally have normal, Dean, _we_ can have normal. You could give up hunting, too, could go back to school as well if you want to. Or maybe you could open a garage, repair cars, or find something else you enjoy. Come with me, Dean. Think about it."

Sam's tone of voice was somewhere between excited and desperate and Dean almost felt sorry for him. He really thought Dean would give up hunting. Couldn't Sam see that hunting was everything Dean knew? That he couldn't give it up any more than breathing? Finally, Dean took a deep breath, trying desperately to sound normal and said, "I've thought about it from the day you told me you're gonna leave again, Sammy. Hunting is everything I know, everything I'm any good at. I won't give up that life, especially not now that you have given me the opportunity to kill those demons. You go live your white picket fence dream, Sammy, but leave me out of it. I can't really blame you, this life was never what you really wanted…" he drifted off, hating how resigned his voice sounded, how defeated. But Dean couldn't help it. Sam was what held him together, the last of his family, and the most important person in his life.

Sam must have picked up on his mood because he said, "Listen, Dean, I don't have to leave right away, I could stay for a little longer, make sure all the guns and bullets work alright…"

Dean interrupted him, pulling himself together visibly. "Nah, its cool, Sammy. Just give me the notes and show me what to do and I'm sure I'll figure it out. No need for you to delay the start of your new life," Dean forced a smile on his face and got up. "Come on, Sammy, I'm sure you're eager to get back to your college-boy life."

oooooOooooo

The call came about five months after Sam had left Dean in the shabby motel in the middle of nowhere. It was Bobby, and he sounded serious. Dean was slowly but surely killing himself. He was taking unnecessarily high risks, he was drinking, getting in bar fights and he went after every vile creature he could find. He didn't rest enough and he refused help from anybody, even Bobby. When Dean had gotten totally drunk and picked a bar fight the other night, almost getting himself killed when he got up alone against three, Bobby had gotten word of it and called Sam.

The younger Winchester was still brooding over his books even though it was after midnight. He'd settled for psychology this time, and he liked it so far. Sam even had a new girlfriend, Victoria, who didn't look a thing like Jess but was sweet and gentle and didn't ask questions Sam wasn't prepared to answer.

But when Bobby called, Sam packed his bags and drove to Youngstown, Ohio, to see how bad it really was with Dean.

What he found exceeded his worst nightmare. When he arrived at the little motel Dean was staying at, he found his brother unshaved, completely drunk, sleeping fully clothed on the bed. He had bruises and cuts on his arms and in his face and he definitely had lost weight.

The doors and windows were sloppily salted and wouldn't keep out anything at all. Sam was surprised Dean was actually still alive. His brother had just slept through him breaking into the room and he hadn't been too silent about it, almost _wanting_ to startle Dean. But Dean had slept on. If his brother's looks were anything to go by, he'd had a few rough months.

Sam shook his head about himself. He should have known that Dean lied when he called and said everything was fine and he was having a blast with the improved weapons. It was so typical for Dean to hide away all of his feelings and pretend he was alright.

Finally, Sam sat down on the bed beside his sleeping brother and softly touched his arm. Usually this alone should have woken Dean, fully alert and with a weapon in his had, this time however Dean just grunted and slept on. Sam shook Dean more forcefully, almost expecting to be hit squarely in the face for it, but once again nothing much happened. After a few moments of more shaking and calling Dean's name, though, his brother finally opened his eyes, blinking blearily.

"Sammy?" he asked; voice hoarse.

"Yeah, Dean, it's me. Come on, get up, we need to talk," Sam tried to coax his brother to get out of bed.

"No, go away. You're not real anyway. You're gone. Hurts so much that you're gone. 'M all alone now," Dean slurred, burying his face deeper in the pillows.

Sam's heart broke. He reached out to stroke Dean's cheek, hoping to get his brother to look at him again. When Sam touched Dean's skin however, a wave of pain, loneliness and bone deep despair hit him. Sam gasped. He'd never felt anything like this before. It was as if Dean was dying inside. He didn't know how anyone could live with this kind of pain. Well, obviously Dean couldn't either.

Sam stroked Dean's hair and finally the man on the bed turned around again. "Miss you so much, Sammy. Need you. Love you," he murmured before falling asleep again.

Tears welled up in Sam's eyes at the words of his brother. Sam knew he was at least partly responsible for the state Dean was in. Coming to a decision, Sam leaned down and kissed the top of Dean's head. "I love you too, Dean. You're the best brother I could have wished for. I owe you my life many times over. I hope you'll forgive me," he said, before he reached out to Dean's thoughts and memories and replaced the emptiness and loneliness with feelings of calmness and comfort. He found the memories of the day he had left, and smoothed them out, took away the edge, made them more bearable.

Sam knew if Dean ever found out what he'd done there would be hell to pay, but Sam would deal with it when – if – the time came. Right now Dean needed to get back his will to live and Sam would be dammed if he let his brother die because of this. He wasn't ready to give up his new life for Dean, but he wouldn't let him suffer either. Not when he could help it.

"I'm so very sorry, Dean," Sam murmured, echoing the words he had spoken so long ago on that field where they had killed their worst enemy. He felt the weight of the broken promise weighing him down, but couldn't allow himself the luxury of breaking now. So Sam got up and left. The motel room door closed silently behind him.


	2. You don't know what you've got ill it's

**034 – not enough**

Author's note: This is not a happy chapter but those of you who know me also know I always make it right in the end. So, I'll make up for it in the next part…

Thanks go, as always, to my sister Cass, who encouraged me and pushed me to get this right. Thank you, sis

Bobby hung up the phone and frowned. He had just finished talking to Dean and if he didn't know better, he'd have sworn Dean was insane. Or possessed. Or both. But he knew Dean was neither. He'd made sure of that right from the start. Whatever was 'wrong' with Dean since Sam had talked to him almost 10 months ago, it was nothing supernatural. Just Dean being _happy_. Incredibly happy, to be exact. Bobby had never seen Dean more content or satisfied with what he was doing. Which was weird in itself. While Dean had never rebelled against the life they were living – like Sam had done – he had viewed it as merely a necessity though. Something that needed to be done by someone and that someone happened to be him. _Happiness_ about the hunts had never been part of the equation.

Lately this had changed drastically. Since that ominous 'talk' to be exact.

When Bobby had called Sam that night after Dean had almost gotten himself killed, he had expected some serious fallout from the brother's meeting. Accusations, hurt, and guilt at the very least. Instead Sam had come back after staying with Dean for only a few hours and from that point on, Dean had simply…changed. Whatever Sam had said or done, it must have impressed Dean a great deal. But Sam was keeping stubbornly silent about the contents of that life-changing talk.

And life-changing it had been for Dean.

Just now Dean had told Bobby that he had decided against taking on a new partner after all, but was good with the decision. That he didn't think he could ever find someone he'd be as tuned in with as he had been with Sam. Dean had also told him that he had spoken to Sam again, their formerly more sporadic phone calls turning into talking twice or more a week. He said Victoria had moved in with Sam and that he was very glad Sam finally had found someone special and was happy. He insisted Sam deserved to have a normal live and the family he longed for. Bobby had just sat there with his mouth open, not knowing what to say.

All of this sounded so unlike the Dean Bobby had known before, that it had him worried. Sometimes it seemed Dean's behaviour got stranger by the day. Sure, neither holy water, nor saying 'Christo' or anything else he had tried on Dean had shown any sign at all that Dean was anything but alright. That didn't mean anything though, they might have just not found out what was going on with Dean, yet. Seeing Dean go from pretty much suicidal to outright happy had been a shock to say the least. Upon being asked, what exactly he had said to Dean that had pulled him back from the brink, Sam had stayed stubbornly silent. A fact Bobby still tried to change – more now than ever. Something just wasn't right here.

After a moment of hesitation, Bobby picked up the phone again and dialled Sam's number. Sam answered after the third ring.

"Bobby, hey, I was planning on calling you later today. What's up?" Sam greeted cheerfully and Bobby winced. He knew his next words would most likely destroy Sam's good mood.

"I just talked to Dean. He was even more … unnaturally happy than he's been lately anyway. Said Victoria moved in with you. Pretty early for such a step, don't you think?" Bobby couldn't help the sharp tone that crept into his voice.

As expected, Sam's mood sobered. "I think, what I do with my private life is none of your business," Sam replied snidely. "I finally have 'normal' and I'm happy. I'm happy with Victoria. I love her."

Something in Sam's tone of voice, in the way he said those words struck Bobby as odd. It sounded…staged. Like Sam had repeated it over and over again, trying to convince himself – and others – that it was true.

"Are you really? Happy, I mean? What about Dean? How does he fit into your new life? Is it that easy for you to leave him behind?" Bobby asked, trying to make Sam talk to him.

"It's not _easy_, Bobby. But I've made my decision – against hunting. And yes, I _am_ happy, just so you know." Sam sounded offended and angry now and Bobby growled.

"Yeah, right. Just like nothing is wrong with Dean's behaviour. If you'd only tell me…" He didn't get to finish his sentence, because Sam interrupted him.

"Bobby, don't get me started on this _again_. For the last time: what happened between me and Dean that day is private. I won't tell you anything else. You might as well give up. And before you ask, no, I do _not_ find it odd that Dean is happy for me. He's my brother and he loves me. He would want for me to have this life."

"_Would want_?" Bobby asked confusedly. That was a very odd wording Sam had chosen. As if Dean were dead or… not himself.

Sam sighed. "Goodbye, Bobby."

Stunned, Bobby stared at the phone he was still holding. Sam had hung up on him.

oooooOooooo

Dean cursed, looking down himself and at his ruined clothing. He was drenched in what looked like lime jell-o. The only difference was that the strange green goo had left acid burn-marks where it had hit his unprotected skin and was currently eating its way through the remains of his shirt. Careful to not touch any of the soiled cloth and hurt himself any further, Dean yanked his ruined shirt over his head.

"Fucking bitch," Dean murmured as he wiped away the last bits of green from his aching skin and grabbed the bottle of holy water. There was no way of telling what exactly he had been hit with, but he didn't want to take any risks. The holy water didn't do anything to his wounds. There was no smoke, no hissing sound, nothing that indicated that this was more than ordinary water and ordinary acid wounds. Just great. Whatever it had been that this bitch had kept in the bowl on her altar, Dean had never seen it before. Just like he never had seen a creature like the one he had just killed. It didn't matter now, though what she had been – she was dead now. She wouldn't go and take children from their homes any more, that much was certain.

His cell-phone rang while he was still wiping creature blood and green slime from his boots. The caller ID said it was Margaret, the witch who had sent him on this hunt.

"Margaret," he said by greeting, suppressing a wince when one of his bruised rips protested. The creature hadn't gone down without putting up one hell of a fight. When that thing had flung him into her altar, he had finally gotten the chance to stab her with a blessed blade – but not before being doused in that green goo.

"Dean, I thought I told you not to touch any of her items. Can't you listen to good advice when it's given? Whatever you did, boy, it's bad. Real bad. You need to come here as soon as possible. You're giving off vibes that attract anything evil in the rage of a hundred miles. It's like you've got a goddamn neon-light above your head saying 'come and get me'. Now, move your ass over here so I can figure out what to do about it," Margaret sounded none too pleased. Dean could just picture her, waving a wooden spoon in agitation, behaving like he was one of her children she could order around. Why wasn't he surprised she could get that bossy?

After all, Margaret hadn't been what he'd expected in the first place. She was a middle aged woman with kind blue eyes and auburn hair. When Dean had first seen her, standing in her kitchen, wearing an apron and baking cookies, he was reminded of an image out of an episode of "Little house on the prairie". But underneath that harmless façade, Dean knew she was a force to be reckoned with. That she didn't look a thing like other 'witches' he had met didn't matter, since those had mostly been bad witches to begin with.

"How do you know that?" He asked, already guessing the answer.

"Because I can feel it, idiot boy. If I can, so can _they_. Now get back here so I can fix the mess you've made. I have cookies, too," she said and hung up on Dean.

Dean grinned. No matter how old, women just loved him. And this one had just offered cookies to him – even though she would serve a lecture with them.

oooooOooooo

Half an hour later Dean sat – bare-chested but with a plate of cookies in front of him – at Margaret's kitchen table. The solemn look on the witch's face spoke volumes and Dean finally asked, "So, just how bad is it?"

"Worse than I thought," Margaret answered and rubbed her forehead in frustration. "Those burn marks are not gonna go away or heal on their own. This is powerful dark magic you've been hit with. You won't only need a purification ritual, I'm pretty sure you'll need a restoring ritual as well, to help those wounds heal. If we don't get this out of your skin it will only fester and get worse. Nothing you want to happen, believe me. I'll have to get a few things for the ritual and you should try and get some rest 'till then." She reached for a basked and her car keys, looking at him worriedly. "I have no doubt we will have unbidden guests pretty soon. Right now evil is drawn to you like a moth to the light. Go, lie down in the guestroom, upstairs," she ordered, her tone allowing no objection. "This house has much more protection than you could give any motel room in such a short time. I'll see what I can do about the ingredients for the brew I need. And the special candles. Take the cookies and a glass of milk with you," she finished, walking to the door. For once, Dean obeyed.

He had briefly considered calling Bobby to see if he could come up with any information about the green slime, but had decided against it. If he called Bobby, Sam would get to know and Dean wanted to avoid that at all costs. He didn't want for Sam to worry; and knowing his little brother, that's what would happen. Maybe Sam would even go and dig for information himself. He'd always prided himself to be good on research. But Dean didn't want that, didn't want for Sam to get involved again. This wasn't his brother's life any more. Dean could only hope Margaret wouldn't call Bobby, either as she was one of his oldest friends. _He_ had been the one to recommend Dean to her, when she had called for help. If Bobby trusted her, so would Dean. And if she said he needed this damn purification, then Dean would believe her. It was as easy as that.

Sighing, Dean took the plate with the chocolate-chip cookies and a glass of milk upstairs to the guest room. He would try and get some sleep, even though the wounds on his arms and chest were throbbing painfully. He didn't want to imagine what it would be like when they got worse.

"Damn, I fucked up royally this time," Dean muttered to himself while stripping out of his jeans and socks. He lay down on top of the covers, not wanting to put any more pressure or friction onto the burns than absolutely necessary.

As the painkillers Margaret had handed him wordlessly upon his arrival finally kicked in, Dean drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

oooooOooooo

Margaret stood in the kitchen, finishing her brew, glad that Dean was still asleep. He would need all the strength he could get, not only for the ritual – which was somewhat draining – but also for the hunt. And hunting he would go, because she'd make damn sure he got rid of the unwelcome visitors that he'd caused.

Evil was attracted to Dean right now and that was the reason why there currently was a banshee, a chimera and a demon in her garden. They had already tried to get into the house several times, but Margaret knew that her protections would hold. This wasn't the first time something supernatural had tried to get to her, but until now, every attempt had failed - and today wouldn't be any different.

Hearing a noise, Margaret looked up from the fluid she had been stirring. Dean came down the stairs, hair dishevelled and chest bare. He was carrying the empty plate and glass, walking up to Margaret carefully.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, taking in his pale skin on which the angry red acid burns stood out sharply. The wounds already looked infected and sore, and Margaret could see in Dean's careful and deliberate movements that he had to be in a great deal of pain.

"I've been better," Dean admitted placing the plate and glass in the sink before turning to her again. "Is that a _banshee_ in the yard, or did I dream that?" he asked, sounding slightly worried.

So he knew he wasn't up to a fight in his condition, Margaret realized and grinned. He was a smart boy after all.

"It's a banshee, along with a chimera and a demon. So we better hurry up, before we get any more unbidden guests. Or,…" she threw a meaningful glance at the angry red marks on his chest and arms, "you'll be in too much pain to move or follow my orders during the ritual. Now take this pillow and go into the basement. I have set up the candles and finished the drawings already. Just sit in the middle of the protective circle; I'll be with you in a minute. This needs to cool," she indicated the sickeningly sweet smelling syrup she had been stirring. To her satisfaction Dean did as he had been told.

oooooOooooo

Dean suppressed a wince when he slowly and carefully moved over to where Margaret had told him. The throbbing pain from just a few hours ago had intensified tenfold, turning into white hot agony that took his breath away. Seating himself was torture. By the time Dean was in position, he was sweating profoundly with the effort it had taken not to stumble and disturb any of the items Margaret had set up. When he was finally able to relax a bit, Dean looked around. The room he was in didn't exactly look like a basement. There were carpets decorating the walls and it was warm and clean, even though the floor was bare.

A protective circle had been drawn onto the floor, just like Margaret had said, and candles, crystals and herbs had been placed along the drawing. The air smelled faintly of those herbs, even though Dean could not make out what they were, at the moment. His head was dizzy with pain and he just wished whatever Margaret had planned would work - and quickly.

"Here we go, dear," Margaret said cheerfully, stepping into the room carrying a bowl with the syrupy liquid and a smaller bowl with something that looked a lot like Vicks Vaporub. She set the larger bowl down in front of him, and handed Dean the other one with the words, "Those burns have to hurt like a bitch by now. I've mixed you something that won't interfere with the purification ritual. Here, put some of this ointment on them, it'll help with the pain. You're not allergic to clove, cinnamon or calendula, are you?"

"No, not that I know of," Dean replied, taking the salve form her thankfully. The skin of his upper body and arms felt like it was on fire, every nerve-ending screaming in protest at the slightest move.

"I'm gonna start the ritual while you rub that burns with the slave. I'll need you focussed and following my orders in a few minutes, so please try to be quick about it, even if it hurts. The sooner we get this show started, the sooner you'll get better," she said, beginning to light the candles.

Dean concentrated on applying the ointment as quickly – and carefully – as he could muster. It still hurt like hell and only his long years of practice with being stitched up allowed him to do so without hissing out in pain several times. Sure, Margaret knew this hurt, but his pride got the better of him. Winchesters didn't whine. Immersing himself in his task, Dean was startled by Margaret's "Are you done, boy?"

"Yeah, I'm good," Dean replied, handing her back the bowl with the remains of the salve. The sharp pain was slowly dulling to a constant throb, which wasn't anywhere near as bad as before. Dean was truly grateful for that.

"Good. Now, take a sip from the bowl sitting in front of you," Margaret instructed and Dean complied. The liquid tasted as syrupy sweet as it looked and smelled and Dean had to fight not to gag. He would be so glad when this was over.

The next thirty minutes passed with more drinking from the bowl, repeating chants, Margaret lighting candles in a specific order and burning herbs at the right time. Dean felt better by the minute during the purification ritual, the tingling sensation that was washing over him a welcome change to the pain before.

Well, he felt better until they got to the restoring ritual.

Something about that part didn't feel good at all. In fact, his head began to throb awfully, and his skull felt like it was being split in half. Images were dancing in front of his eyes, voices were ringing in his ears and the room around him began to spin madly. Somewhere in the distance Dean could hear Margaret call out for him before his world turned mercifully black.

oooooOooooo

Margaret stared at the unconscious man before her with stunned disbelieve. This shouldn't have happened. How could the ritual have gone wrong? It was one of the most basic, harmless practices she knew, way more innocuous than the previous purification had been. The ritual really only should mobilize positive energies, unlock self-healing and restoration resources and tab into barely used powers everyone possessed, yet usually was unable to access. It was solely used to help the body heal more quickly and completely. How on earth could such a positive ritual have such devastating effects?

Dean groaned and Margaret hurried over to him, helping him to get into an upright position again. He blinked confusedly at her, hands coming up to grip his obviously hurting head.

"Where am I? Where's Sammy? What the hell..?" Margaret could see anger blooming in Dean's eyes as the young man pushed to his feet, oblivious to anything but the building range inside of him. He suddenly looked different, she noticed. His features had turned hard and his eyes were ablaze with a fury she would not have suspected him capable of. Sure, he was a dangerous man, as all hunters were, for a fact. They had to be in order to do what they did every day. But what Margaret could now see on Dean's face was above everything she had expected. There was so much anger, mixed with hurt and confusion, that she involuntarily took one step back.

"Where is he? I'm gonna kill him. That backstabbing son of a bitch. I'm gonna kick his sorry ass before I'm gonna wring his neck. I'm gonna feed him to a hellhound. I can't believe he did that. He promised. He _swore_ god dammit. Where is he? I'm gonna…" Dean was about to storm past Margaret without really seeing her, when she grabbed his arm tightly.

"Dean. Dean, listen to me. I'm Margaret. Remember? Margaret. We were having a ritual. You were hurt. Dean, do you hear what I say? You need to calm down. Dean!"

His eyes, narrowing at her, were without recognition, his body tense with anger as he snatched his arm back forcefully. "I need to find Sam. He's gonna pay for what he did to me. Where is he? Where did you hide him?"

Moving to stand directly in front of him, Margaret aimed for the right tone, giving her voice a calming quality. "Dean listen, whoever Sam is, he is not here. You are in my house. In the basement. We were having a ritual after you were hurt. Something went wrong and now you're a bit confused. But you have to calm down, alright? Don't make me yell at you, young man. I know you're angry and I know you're hurt, but I'm sure we can sort all of this out somehow. You just need to cool down, alright? Where did you think you were?"

Margaret knew she had gotten through to him the moment he noticeably stiffened and really looked at her for the first time. "I … I dunno," he admitted, hesitantly, gritting his teeth. "There are so many confusing pictures in my head… and voices. Memories I didn't know I had. I thought... I guess I didn't know what I thought. Gods, I need a drink. And then I need to beat the crap out of Sam."

"Come on, boy, what you need is time to sort out your thoughts. And to get some rest later on. Why don't we go upstairs and get a glass of milk and some cookies for you, while you try to calm down? I don't think you're gonna kick anybody's ass tonight. You're upset and confused and you're most probably drained from the ritual. You don't need alcohol to confuse you even more," her look was stern as she turned away from him. "Alright, let's try and sort this mess out. Come on!" she didn't wait for his answer, instead she made her way up the stairs, sure he would follow.

oooooOooooo

Dean sat at the kitchen table, staring into the distance with unseeing eyes. He was confused, angry and hurt. Worst of all was the overwhelming feeling of _betrayal_ though. Sam, his brother, the man he trusted with his life, the person he loved most in this world, had betrayed and manipulated him. He had sworn that he'd never mess with his head in this way again – and he had lied. He also had lied about the night with the yellow-eyed-demon. And it hurt, it hurt something awful. The ultimate betrayal of the trust Dean had set in Sam.

Rage was burning in Dean's chest, anger so great he had to control himself not to get up and punch something. He longed to go out, find Sam and show him exactly _how_ badly he had messed up. But Margaret was right. He needed rest, even though Dean couldn't imagine how he was supposed to _ever_ get to rest again. There were memories inside his head, old ones, forgotten ones, the memories Sam had taken from him. They were there along with the new ones Sam had created for him. It was all there in crystal clarity. The way Sam had pretended to join the yellow-eyed-demon, the taunting, the guilt, the shame. The way Dean had yelled at Sam and punched him, up to the point where Sam had come up to him and had taken away his memories. Because it was easier for Sam. Because Sam didn't want to deal with the consequences of his actions and had found a way to change reality to his liking. Because obviously Sam now decided what Dean was allowed to know and remember, and what not.

That lying son of a bitch. "Running a fever, my ass," Dean swore, his hands balling to fists in his lap. He felt like wringing Sam's neck, felt like punching Sam's face until he admitted what he had done. He felt like never talking to his brother again, afraid that Sam would manipulate him again. He didn't know how he was supposed to ever look his brother in the eyes again without wondering if his memories were real. Dean just didn't know. He had trusted Sam with his life, had believed to be safe with him, only to discover that Sam had betrayed him in the worst possible way.

Dean didn't care what motivation Sam could possibly have had, and he didn't want to hear any kind of explanation. Because in all honesty, there _was_ no excuse for what Sam had done. Trust was about the only thing that had kept them alive all these years. Trust that Sam would have his back, trust that no matter how bad things were, Sam wouldn't let him down. If Dean was honest with himself, Sam was about the only person he had trusted like this, in his whole life. There were precious few people Dean trusted, to begin with, but he'd trusted none of them _completely_. The way he had trusted Sam. With all he had and all he was. Having this trust betrayed made him feel vulnerable and lost. Robbed of an essential part of his life. And it hurt worse than any physical wound ever could.

'He didn't care,' the thought came unbidden and sudden, making Dean swallow painfully around the lump in his throat. 'Sam didn't care that he broke his word. That he deliberately violated me.' For a brief moment Dean wished Sam were possessed or maybe under some sort of influence. That at least Dean could have dealt with; exorcised it, or whatever he'd had to do in order to get _his_ Sam back. It would have meant his brother hadn't willingly hurt him, hadn't been responsible for his actions, hadn't done it knowing full well what it would do to Dean. But he hadn't been possessed. Not on that field with the yellow-eyed-demon and not in Youngstown. The night Dean barely could remember. Up until now Dean had believe he had only dreamed of Sammy that night. He'd had no idea his brother had been really there, messing with his head. Dean almost wished he had really been killed at that bar fight. Surely being dead was preferable to he anguish he felt right now. Not even the rage in his chest could dull the pain Sam's betrayal caused.

"I'm really all alone now," Dean murmured not caring that he sounded as lost and alone as he felt.

oooooOooooo

"Bobby, I think you should come over here. The Winchester boy, something is wrong with him," Margaret said without much preamble. She had decided to call her old friend and see if he could be of any help. If not with Dean himself, then maybe with the creatures in her yard. It didn't seem as if Dean would be able to get rid of them on his own any time soon.

"What do you mean, _wrong_?" Bobby asked, concern audible in his voice. "What happened? Is Dean hurt?"

"Well, he had a little accident on the hunt and got contaminated with some pretty dark magic. Nothing I couldn't deal with, really. But, he reacted very badly to one of the rituals I was doing; he even passed out. Since he woke up he's agitated and angry, ranting and raving and going on about having been manipulated. He's convinced something has been done to him and I tend to agree. I just don't know what," Margaret tried to explain, hoping Bobby would just come over and help her sort this mess out. The rage she could see in Dean, but also the pain that went along with it, had her worried. "Bobby, I really think this boy has been through some tough shit. And I don't mean simple hunting problems. Please, you've known him all his life, come here and help me set this straight."

"Sure, I'll be there by tomorrow morning," Bobby answered and Margaret released a breath she hadn't been aware she was holding.

Grateful that Bobby didn't ask any more questions, she added, "Oh and you might want to bring the necessary items to hunt a chimera. It seems I happen to have one in my garden. Along with a banshee and a demon," she said.

"A chimera, a banshee _and_ a demon? What did you do, take out an ad to a newspaper?" Bobby growled. "Maybe I should call Dean's brother… he might be able to help – with more than just the hunt. I have a feeling that he could shed some light into this."

"His name isn't by any chance 'Sam' is it?" Margaret asked, guessing the answer already.

"Yeah, that's him alright. Why?" Bobby sounded more than just a little curious.

"Oh, just a wild guess," Margaret smirked. "I sure hope he can hold his own, because once Dean gets his hands on him, things will get nasty. He insists someone called _Sam_ did something to him."

"Shit, I knew something was wrong with Dean. I just couldn't figure out, what – and Sam wouldn't tell." Bobby cursed. "I'm gonna take care of that, don't worry. I'll make sure Sam and I are at your place first thing tomorrow. Until then, keep Dean from doing something foolish, alright? Like going on a hunt while he's emotionally hurting and not up to it. I'd hate to see him getting himself killed. I'll bring Sam and then we can sort this thing out whatever it is. If I know one thing for sure it's that Dean loves his brother. He's protected Sam all of his life, hell, I'd bet he'd die for him. I'm sure whatever it is, it can be solved with a few punches, some yelling and a lot of talking."

"I sure hope you're right, Bobby," Margaret replied, sounding sceptical to even her own ears. She had a feeling that whatever had happened between the brothers, it had caused more damage than Bobby could imagine. Dean didn't strike her as a person who broke easily, but the man sitting in her kitchen right now was about to shatter. And she wasn't so sure anyone would be able to put the pieces back together if that happened. "See you tomorrow."

oooooOooooo

"Oh shit," the phone slipped out of Sam's suddenly numb fingers, hitting the floor with an unpleasant sound. Panic settled into Sam's stomach, knowing the day he had wished would never come was finally upon him. Dean had regained his memories. It was a worst case scenario.

"Sam, baby, what's the matter? Bad news?" Sam felt Victoria's arms come around him from behind, her body pressing close to his. He couldn't deal with her now, couldn't deal with the questions. Questions she never voiced but that were always there – in her eyes, in her body language.

"Yeah, bad news. It's about Dean. He's in trouble. I can't talk right now, I have to go. Bobby will pick me up in two hours and I have to get ready. I don't know when I'll be back," Sam said, hoping she would be satisfied with the answer.

He knew she wasn't when a wave of anger, jealousy and impatience hit him full force. Empathy sometimes really sucked.

"Dean? This is about Dean again? What has he done now? Isn't it enough that you talk on the phone two or three times a week? Does he now need his little brother to solve his problems? You said he's in trouble, so I get it he's not _hurt_ or else you'd have said so. What is so terribly important that you need to rush to him? Why is it always _you_ who has to go see him? He's not been here_once_.If he has a problem, he could come to you. Do you think it's fun to have you disappear on me every few months, never knowing when or if you'll come back? What the hell are you hiding from me? I'm sick and tired of your games," Sam could see her face turn red as her anger rose.

"Jess, I …." Sam caught his slip a moment too late. Jessica had been famous for her jealous fits, yelling at him the same way Victoria had just done, only that the topic never had been Dean. It didn't matter now, because he just had called Victoria by the name of his dead ex-girlfriend. Time for damage control. _"Victoria…"_

"That's it. I've had it." She turned around, stomping away. At the door, she came to halt, looking back at him, saying, "You know what? You go on your road trip. Help your brother or do whatever you do. See if I care. Maybe we've been too hasty with moving in together. I'll go look for an apartment. We can talk when you get back. I think I deserve some answers." With that, she stepped through the door and was gone.

"Fuck!" Sam cursed, leaning down to pick up the telephone from the floor. "How do I always manage to mess up like this?"

oooooOooooo

Sam was scared. Of course he'd never admit that out loud – especially not to Dean – but he really was scared shitless right now. Not of what Dean would do to him, no that wasn't the problem at all. Sam knew for certain that Dean would _never_ seriously hurt him. A few punches, yes. A few broken ribs were a possibility as well, since – let's face the facts – this time Sam really had messed up. But nothing permanent, nothing really bad anyway.

No, Sam was afraid of Dean's _emotional_ reaction to him. The thought alone that Dean could look at him with hatred or disgust in his eyes made Sam's stomach turn. He loved Dean, more than anyone else in this word. Yes, even more than the woman he was living with and had considered to propose to. But Victoria was another problem entirely.

Dean. Sam's heart clenched painfully at the thought of his brother. He knew he'd hurt Dean, worse than he had ever hurt him before. Even his leaving to Stanford had paled in comparison to what Sam had done. And he knew it. He could judge the magnitude of the wrong he had done to Dean all too well. It was disastrous. Possibly irredeemable. And it scared the living daylights out of Sam.

The possibility that Dean wouldn't forgive him, wouldn't let him explain, wouldn't let him try to make things better, made Sam nauseous. He just _had_ to listen to Sam's explanation, had to give Sam a chance to at least make him understand, if he couldn't forgive. But somewhere deep inside himself Sam knew that chance was slim. In fact, it was more likely Dean would beat the crap out of him before telling Sam what a worthless brother he was. Sam knew Dean might not even talk to him at all.

Despair was taking over Sam's heart and soul, the impending confrontation hanging like a black cloud above his head. 'I've brought this onto myself,' Sam thought miserably. While his decision to alter Dean's memories at that night with the yellow-eyed-demon had been born out of a totally irrational fear, for the night in Youngstown he had no such excuse. That night, he had full well known that what he was doing would have dire consequences if Dean ever found out. But he had taken that risk, thinking that _talking_ wouldn't be enough to pull Dean back from the brink. He would have had to stay with Dean for a while at least to make sure Dean was alright. But his brother would have never allowed that and Sam hadn't really wanted to go back to hunting. So altering Dean's memories seemed to be the best idea, if Sam didn't want to have to bury Dean soon. Only that his brother was never supposed to know about what Sam had done. 'No use crying over spilt milk now,' Sam thought bitterly and rubbed his hands over his face tiredly.

He was exhausted, but it was an emotional exhaustion that had nothing to do with the Banshee he had killed earlier, while Bobby had taken care of the chimera. Thankfully the demon had turned tail and had run. That meant Bobby or Dean would have to hunt it down later on, but Sam way grateful anyway. He wasn't so sure he could have gone through an exorcism successfully, not with the knowledge that he would have to face Dean soon. And distraction could mean death, Sam knew that.

Sam's hand closed tightly around the amulet in the pocket of his jeans. He hoped he would be able to give it to Dean, to show how sincerely sorry he was. It would give Dean a means to protect himself from any kind of psychic manipulation; including the one Sam had done to him. It had taken Sam a great deal of time and patience to find this specific amulet, since there were very few still in existence. It was supposed to be a peace offering as much as a sign that Sam truly understood that he had lost Dean's trust.

If only his trust was all Sam had lost. It would be bad enough and would change their relationship forever, but maybe, just maybe trust could be regained. The thought that Dean would stop _loving_ him though, was unbearable for Sam. Dean's love was the most precious thing Sam had; he'd do everything to make sure he didn't lose it.

_Had done_ everything, since his fear of losing Dean's love had ironically been the reason for Sam to take away Dean's memories that night with the yellow-eyed-demon. Sam realized that with doing that, with manipulating Dean the way he had, he might as well have_caused_ the very thing he had been trying to avoid.

Sam looked at his watch for what felt like the thousandth time since they had been sent into the kitchen by Margaret, to wait for Dean. The suspense was grating on his nerves, but there was nothing that could be done about it. His brother was still asleep, knocked out by painkillers and sleeping pills Margaret had talked him into taking. She had told Bobby and Sam that Dean hadn't slept all night and in the morning she had convinced him to take the pills. She told him that he needed to be rested and fit if he wanted to get rid of those creatures in her yard and then go after Sam. Dean had reluctantly agreed, knowing drug induced sleep was better than no sleep at all.

So now they were waiting.

Margaret had left them alone, saying they needed to sort this out without her watching. Bobby was on a chair by the kitchen table while Sam himself was standing near the door, too riled to sit down. The other man had not spoken much after the lecture he had given Sam on the ride to Margaret's house. Something about trust and not stabbing your own brother in the back. Sam knew he deserved every single of the harsh words Bobby had said to him The rant had been quite accurate in fact, despite the fact that Bobby didn't know any details of what exactly Sam had done to Dean. Only that he had manipulated Dean somehow, breaking a vow and betraying Dean's trust.

What more was there to say?

The sound of a door opening somewhere on the top floor startled Sam out of his thoughts. Dean was awake – time to face the music.

oooooOooooo

Dean saw Sam standing beside the door the moment he walked in. Rage welled up in his chest at the look of his brother. In an instant, he was in Sam's face hissing "son of a bitch" before punching Sam's jaw hard – twice.

Through his anger Dean could feel arms come around him, before Bobby dragged him back, away from Sam. His brother looked guilty as hell, rubbing blood from his split lip, murmuring, "I deserved that."

"Damn right, you do!" Dean yelled, trying to struggle free from the grip Bobby still had on him. That he couldn't manage spoke volumes about how weak his healing body still was. "How could you? How dare you do this to me? You promised. You swore damn it! I thought I could trust you. I thought you'd…." Dean broke off, the feeling of betrayal drowning the burning rage in his chest. He relaxed, stopped fighting Bobby's grip, instead he took two steps back.

"Dean, I …" his brother started, but Dean snapped at him.

"No! Shut up, Sam! I don't wanna hear it!"

It was true. He didn't want to hear it. Because there really was nothing Sam could do or say to make this better. Nothing at all.

"Boys, I think I'm gonna leave you to it. So you can talk it through. I'm gonna…"

"No!" Dean whirled around to Bobby, grabbing his arm to hold him back. "No, you stay right where you are. If he gets a chance to touch me, he might mess with my head again, alter my memories. And I won't remember afterwards. All it takes is one quick touch of his hand, I know it, it's happened before." Dean sighed, "I'm in no condition to keep him from touching me, from violating me again."

Out of the corner of his eyes Dean could see Sam flinch at his words. But for once, Dean didn't care if he hurt his brother. It was the truth after all. Sam _had_ violated him in a way no-one else could have done.

"I wouldn't do that, Dean. I'm…"

"I told you to shut up, Sam!" Dean yelled at him, anger and hurt mingling in his voice.

"Please, Dean if you'd just let me explain…" Sam had the audacity to take a step in their direction, causing Dean to move another step back.

"Stay where you are or I swear I'll put a load of rocksalt into your chest. Don't you dare come near me again. I don't wanna hear what you have to say," Dean spat. "I don't wanna listen to your pretty little lies. I don't wanna know how you think you can justify what you've done. There _is_ no justification for this. You gave me your word, Sam. You swore to me you'd never do it again." Pain welled up in Dean, pushing away the anger. It hurt to say these things. The words were like ash in his mouth and he swallowed painfully, voice faltering as the burning in his throat got worse.

When he looked at his brother again, Dean knew there were tears in his eyes, but he didn't care. "I believed you, Sam. I trusted you. In a way I've never trusted in my life. I can't … there is no way to make this right again. I just…" his voice broke and he had to swallow, choking back a sob.

"I want you to leave. I want you to stay out of my life. Don't call me, don't try to see me or contact me in any way. I'm sure Bobby will keep you updated if you want to know if I'm still alive. I'm done with you." Dean turned his back on Sam deliberately, shoulders slumping, unable to stand the sight of his brother any longer. Sam had looked like he'd been hit again.

Beside him, Bobby suddenly stirred, "Boys, I'm…"

"No Bobby, I've made my decision. Just take him and leave. There is nothing more to talk about," with that, Dean sprinted up the stairs, not caring if he left the two men standing alone in the kitchen. He needed to get away from Sam, away from the pain that was burning in his chest so fiercely. He was eternally grateful that Margaret had allowed him to stay in her guest room for a few days longer. Dean somehow knew he would need it.

Feeling like his clothes were suddenly suffocating him, Dean pulled off his shirt frantically. The shoes and jeans followed next, before he collapsed on the bed. Curling into a tight ball, Dean sobbed helplessly, finally allowing his tears to fall.

For the first time since he had been a kid, Dean Winchester cried himself to sleep.


	3. If you love something, set it free

A/N: Warning: from now on, this story is **SLASH. **If **Wincest** bothers you, please do not read on. Also, I'd like to thank my beta readers, Mordhena Darkwyn, Mayalaen (LJ) and my sister, Cass.

**If you love something, set it free...**

Sam watched Victoria over the restaurant table. He didn't need his empathy to know she was pleased. Very pleased indeed, if the way she was looking at her new engagement-ring was anything to go by. The last few months had been anything but easy, but Sam had learned to accept that this was his life now. A life that consisted of studying and making a life for him and Victoria. A life without Dean in it.

She'd taken him back, that night eight months ago, when he had returned to his apartment, bruised, broken and hurting from a loss he thought he'd never recover from. Seeing his obvious misery, she had agreed to stay with him. She had said she would be willing to 'forgive and forget', if he promised to never run off like that again. Sam had been too hurt to object, Dean's rejection still too fresh in his mind. So he took comfort wherever he could find it, which happened to be a warm body at night.

Victoria didn't _really_ love him, Sam knew that for sure. Not in the way Dean had loved him anyway. Most of the time, Sam sensed a lot of different emotions from her – ambition, jealousy, possessiveness, and yes, in a way, love. Sam wasn't sure if it was him she loved, though, or the thought of being with him. He knew she wanted to marry him, have the statistical two point whatever children, a dog and a white picket fence. The perfect picture-book life. And, once upon a time, Sam had thought he wanted that too.

He couldn't have been more wrong. Yes, he'd wanted normal, but this…this wasn't normal. Not _his_ normal anyway. Sam's normal consisted of greasy diner food, shabby motel rooms and hunting evil. It consisted of fighting over who got to pick the music, of gluing Dean's hand to a beer bottle and of listening to his brother's deep breathing in the bed beside his own. It consisted of _Dean_.

And Sam was eternally sorry that he had realized this fact just a little too late. Because a life with Dean was the one single thing, he couldn't have any more.

oooooOooooo

"Damn it, Bobby, be careful! That hurts!" Dean hissed when Bobby fixed the bandage on Dean's freshly stitched arm none too gently.

"Should have thought about that before you let that fucker get too close to you, Dean," Bobby replied, patting the wound twice for good measure and ignoring Dean's wince.

Dean took another swig from the whiskey bottle, his right hand coming up to grab the protective amulet around his neck. It was the only one he was currently wearing and not the small gold-coloured one he had worn for all of these years. Right now, the memories associated with it were too much to bear. He would never have thought he'd take it off willingly, hadn't done so since Sam had given it to him that Christmas day so many years ago. Before this incident it had been his most prized possession, a symbol of the bond he and Sam shared. Now it was resting in the bottom of his duffle bag, safely wrapped up – close but not too close.

No, the one he was currently wearing was the _other_ amulet. The one Sam had left with Margaret, asking her to give it to Dean. The one that was supposed to protect him from psychic manipulations. Dean knew it worked. He had discovered that first hand, a few weeks ago when a demon had possessed a little girl and had tried to get into Dean's head. The amulet had warmed slightly against Dean's skin, protecting him effectively. Sam had done his homework, Dean had to give him that. Sam's image suddenly appeared in Dean's mind, the way he had looked the last time he had seen him – lip split, purple bruise forming on his skin and guilt written all over his face. Dean closed his eyes, wishing the picture would just go away. Even after these months, remembering Sam still hurt.

"You thinking about him again?" Bobby's voice pulled Dean out of his musings and he let go of the amulet as if he had been burned.

"None of your business, old man," Dean replied feeling like a kid that had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Dean, please. Don't do this. It's been eight months. I know that's not enough time for you to trust him or forgive him, but you could at least…talk to him, don't you think? You're hurting both of you, Dean, and it's not healthy."

"Who made you Dr. Phil now?" Dean snapped at Bobby, taking another swig from the bottle. "You know nothing about how I feel – and I don't care if he's miserable. He didn't give a damn about my feelings either, when he took my memories. Why should I talk to him ever again? No, you know what; I'll go and find myself another gig…" Dean pushed to his feet, feeling slightly dizzy.

"Dean, you need a good nights sleep before you can go back to hunting. Sleep off the painkillers and the booze. Don't be so stubborn. Go and lie down. If you leave tomorrow, it will be soon enough," Bobby said and Dean thought that maybe this time Bobby might be right. The town he wanted to check out next was quite a few hours drive away and Dean was exhausted. The stitched-up cut in his left upper arm wasn't _that_ much of a problem, but a little bit of rest wouldn't do any harm. If only he'd stop dreaming of Sam.

"Yeah whatever," Dean finally agreed, seeing the pleased grin on Bobby's face, but not caring much. Tomorrow he would be off to another hunt and maybe this vengeful spirit – or whatever it was that was going on – would take his thoughts off Sam. Dean still had hope, even though the last twenty or so creatures he had taken care of hadn't managed that feat either.

oooooOooooo

_The graveyard was cast into darkness and the only source of light was the illumination of a single flashlight. It was barely enough to see what was happening. A dark figure muttered vicious curses under his breath as he dug into the dirt. The tombstone that marked the grave the digger was working on, read _Arthur Cunnings, beloved father and husband. 17. May 1948 – 31. October 1999_. When the figure moved to shovel dirt out of the hole reaching already to his hip, the cone of light showed his face for a moment. It was Dean. Dirt and dead leaves were already covering him. He was just reaching the lid of the coffin, when suddenly, something behind him rustled. _

_Before Dean could aim and shoot at anything though, he was lifted off his feet and hurtled against a lone tree, three graves down the line. The force of it audibly took his breath away for a moment, the impact of his head against the wood obviously making him dizzy. Catching his breath and cursing violently, Dean tried to struggle free from the invisible hands that kept him pinned to the tree. His feet dangled a few inches above the ground and he desperately tried to find some footing. All of a sudden, a vengeful spirit materialized in front of him, revealing itself. It let go of Dean, who fell hard onto the ground, crumbling at the foot of the tree. Before Dean could react, the spirit took a step back, held out its right hand and in a wisp of smoke, a scythe appeared in it._

_Dean had recovered slightly and with the spirit giving him some room, he leapt for the pump-gun he'd dropped when he hit the tree. It was too far away for Dean to get a grip on it though, before he was lifted off the ground again and casually tossed against the wrought iron fence of a nearby grave. Everything happened so fast that Dean had no chance of defending himself. He tried to evade the spirit, tried to reach the pump-gun once again, but the spirit was already close enough to grab hold of his throat. Dean's hands went to the fingers squeezing the breath out of him, as he fought for his life. The spirit studied him intently for a second, before its scythe vanished and a pleased grin appeared on its face. It took hold of Dean more firmly before neatly pushing him down on one of the four poles of the fence, staking him. _

_Dean tried to scream, but the iron must have pierced his lungs and he managed to get out only a sickening, wet gurgle. Writhing helplessly, Dean took one last, painful breath before the light in his eyes went out and he stilled, a look of utter disbelief and shock on his face._

"Dean!" Sam yelled, sitting upright in his bed, breathing heavily. He was drenched with cold sweat, a pounding headache behind his temples. "God, Dean, _no…_ he whispered, rubbing his hands over his face and the hair clinging to his forehead. When he made to get out of bed, Victoria sat up beside him, as well.

"Honey, what's the matter? Did you have a nightmare? Come here, I'll make you feel better," she reached for him, attempting to pull him against her body.

"No, Victoria, not just a nightmare. Let me go!" Sam brought out, frantically trying to get her hands off of him. "I need to find Dean. I need to warn him. He's in danger. He's gonna _die_, if I don't warn him," Sam mumbled, grabbing for his sweatpants that were lying beside the bed.

"Sam, don't be ridiculous!" Victoria snapped, kneeling on the bed now, hands propped on her hips. "No one is gonna die, the least your stupid brother. Just because you had a nightmare of some sort doesn't mean anything at all is gonna happen. It's just a _nightmare_ for god's sake, and you sure have had enough of those lately. Now stop acting like a stubborn child and come back to bed. You're making a fool out of yourself. Come on," she crooned. "If you ask nicely, I'll even let you fuck me…"

Sam stared at her, eyes glittering with anger and disgust. "You know nothing about me or Dean. You don't know what it's like to love another person more than you love yourself. Don't you dare speak of Dean that way _ever_ again. My brother is worth more than two of your kind at any given day. He is in danger and I will _not_ stand by and see him get hurt. Now wipe that bitchy look off your face before I get really angry," Sam yelled, losing all semblance of control over his emotions. He didn't care that he had just destroyed any chance of ever having a life with Victoria. All he could think of was _Dean_.

"Are you nuts?" Victoria screamed. "Do you even know what you're saying? You're totally out of your mind!"

"No," Sam replied. "Quite the contrary. I'm thinking clearly for maybe the first time in a very long time. This life, this apartment, you… this isn't what I want or need, but that's beside the point now. I need to call Bobby and I need to go find Dean. I just hope I'm not too late." Sam leaned down and pulled a huge duffle bag from under the bed, stuffing clothing in it in randomly. Victoria just watched him in frozen disbelieve.

When Sam turned to the door, life came into the still form on the bed. Victoria jumped off the bed grabbing Sam's arm. "Samuel Winchester, if you go through that door now, you don't need to come back. We're over and done with…"

Sam shrugged her off, opening the bedroom door. "I don't want to come back," he said before leaving the room and closing the door behind him. When he heard the metallic 'cling' of Victoria's engagement ring hitting the floor, Sam felt like a heavy weight was lifted off his shoulders.

One problem less. Time to focus on saving Dean's life.

oooooOooooo

Sam ran through the graveyard, heart pounding like a jackhammer. He couldn't shake the sense of foreboding, the feeling of _too late_, no matter how hard he tried. Sweat trickled down his face, burning his eyes, but he ignored it. He knew he needed to push through his fears and nervousness, into the state of mind for a fight. Dean's life depended on it. The handle of his Glock felt reassuringly cold in the damp grip of his right hand as he fought against his panic. Bobby's information regarding Dean's next job had been insufficient, forcing Sam to research the missing information online. It had cost him precious time. Time Dean might not have.

In addition, it had taken Sam far longer than he'd anticipated finding this crappy little graveyard in the middle of nowhere. Even though he had broken every speed limit on the way, it still felt as if it wasn't enough. _Oh God, please don't let me be too late. Please, let me be on time,_ he prayed silently. Of course, with his luck, the grave was at the other fucking side of the graveyard than he had parked at. In his panic to get to Dean in time, Sam hadn't paid attention to the outline. He had just stopped as soon as he had reached the wall and scaled it by climbing on top of the car.

Finally, after what felt like hours of running, he could see a dim light ahead of him. Dean! Adrenaline rushed through Sam at the knowledge of his brother being near and he put on some more speed, when he heard a terrifying crack. _Oh god, I'm too late!_ The thought came unbidden and with it a new wave of cold panic, as he burst through the hedge that ran along the row of graves that separated him from his brother.

The spirit had raised Dean above its head already and Sam jerked to a halt. It's wasn't too late to save Dean's life yet. "Leave him the fuck alone!" Sam yelled, his gun pointed at the vengeful spirit. Before he could shoot it though, it turned around, facing Sam, flinging Dean away with a negligent movement. The next moment it vanished. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," Sam cursed, scanning the surroundings carefully while suppressing the urge to check on Dean. This thing would kill them both if he wasn't careful. So much for his rescue mission.

Sam knew his only chance to dodge an attack of the now invisible spirit was the rustling noise it made before appearing. The noise he's heard in his vision. Sam's urge to go check on Dean grew with every second that passed, but he knew he was the target now and he didn't dare remind the spirit that Dean was there as well. If Dean was hurt, their best chance of surviving was for Sam to take the spirit down. Turning around in a circle, the gun at the ready, Sam didn't allow himself to think about his brother further. It wouldn't do for him to get too distracted. He needed all his senses alert for anything out of the ordinary, hoping to detect the spirit before anything else could happen.

Unfortunately, Sam had no such luck.

He heard the rustling noise behind his back and spun around, weapon at the ready. He never had a chance to fire. The scythe raised high above its head, the spirit appeared out of nowhere, just as Sam finished turning in its direction. He managed to jump back, but the sharp tip of the weapon grazed his stomach, sending white hot pain searing through his body. Sam tried to keep hold of his weapon, but his fingers didn't want to cooperate and it fell to the ground by his feet as he went to his knees, fingers pressing against the wound across his belly.

With hollow-sounding laughter the spirit kicked the gun away, before a malicious grin appeared on the pale face. It raised the scythe above its head once more, ready to cut Sam in two, when a shot sounded through the night.

The spirit vanished instantly, taking the damnable scythe with it and Sam collapsed in a heap on the ground, relief flooding him. Through the pain and the disorientation he felt a hand on his face, Dean's blurry face appearing in his field of vision, before his world turned dark and he lost consciousness.

oooooOooooo

Sam looked up from the magazine he had been reading when the door to his hospital room opened. To his great surprise, Dean stepped into the room, a stony expression on his face. "Dean!" Sam gasped, totally unprepared for the sight of his brother. When he'd woken in the hospital about a week ago, right out of the OR, Bobby had been there. Sam really hadn't expected Dean to show up at all. He knew his brother was still very hurt and angry and saving Dean's life hadn't miraculously taken away those feelings. He had hoped to be able to speak to Dean though, at some point. It seemed his chance was now.

"You're a stupid son of a bitch, you know that?" Dean hissed, eyes cold and angry. "You were supposed to stay away from me, not come rushing head over heels into a hunt and almost get yourself killed. What do they teach at universities nowadays? How to make one stupid decision after another? But then again, the last time you fucked up you managed quite nicely on your own, didn't you?" Dean approached Sam's bed now and Sam was just glad he hadn't left yet.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I … I didn't mean to mess up your hunt and get hurt. I only tried to… I only tried to save you. I didn't mean to get hurt and have you take care of me." Sam had hoped to be able to talk to Dean, to get a chance to say all the things he hadn't gotten a chance to say ten moths ago. But now that Dean was actually here with him, in the same room, angry and cold, with mistrust written all over his face, Sam couldn't remember one single thing he'd wanted to say.

"I managed fine without you for the last ten months, Sam. I'm not out to kill myself, I am not taking unnecessary risks, I am not getting into bar-fights drunk off my ass. I thought that was what you wanted when you did your little psycho trick on me. So, you got it. This was a simple salt and burn and you had no business being near me." Dean snapped, coming to stand beside Sam's bed.

"No it wasn't!" Sam yelled, moving to sit upright, cursing as a sharp, stinging pain rushed through him. Damn, for a second he had forgotten he had almost been gutted. Fixing his brother's eyes with his, Sam continued more softly, "I had a vision, Dean. That spirit was a mean bastard. You would have gotten killed – and I couldn't let that happen. I know you hate me right now. I know you don't trust me any more and you have every right to feel all those things, but you are still my brother and I love you. I couldn't let you die. I just couldn't sit back and let you run into certain death. Can't you understand that?"

Dean sighed, but the look in his eyes didn't soften. "I don't know what to believe any more, Sam. I only know that you disregarded my wishes again. Let's say I believe you. Why didn't you just send Bobby to me as a backup? Why mess up the pretty little life you've made for yourself? Why risk your own skin? Face it. That was a stupid thing to do. I don't want to see you hurt either. I may not trust you and I may not really like you much at the moment, but it's as you said. You're still my brother. I've spent my whole fucking life making sure you don't get hurt, or worse, killed. I thought with you leading your apple pie life at least that wouldn't be a problem any more. You're a fucking moron, you know? I bet that little fiancé of yours isn't too thrilled that you ran away again and almost got killed on top of it," Dean's voice dripped with sarcasm and Sam winced. "What did you tell her? How did you explain all of this? Where is she anyway?"

Sam didn't like the malicious gleam in Dean's eyes, but he knew he deserved Dean's anger and so he forced himself to stay calm as he answered, "I did call Bobby, but he was too far away to reach you in time. I also wanted to see you for myself, make sure you're alright. As for Victoria… The engagement's off and I don't think she will talk to me again in this lifetime. You were right – she didn't like me running off in the middle of the night to try and save your life."

Dean sneered, looking down at Sam disdainfully. "I wouldn't worry about that too much if I were you. All you have to do is go and alter her memories. Shouldn't be too hard to do for you after all. And the chances that she will ever need a restoring ritual are pretty slim. She'll never know you were anything but happy together."

Sam closed his eyes for a moment, ignoring the pain it caused to hear Dean say those words. 'You brought this on yourself' he reminded himself firmly, opening his eyes again to look at Dean. He wouldn't back away from his brother no matter what Dean did or said. "I wouldn't do that, Dean," Sam replied, hating how resigned his voice sounded even to his own ears. Dean had no reason to believe him after all. Sam said it anyway. "I've never… I've never…"

"You've never what? Used your mind altering powers on anyone else? I was the only one?" Dean raised his arms in an 'I can't believe this' gesture, the grin on his face familiar – and as false as any of his fake IDs. "Wow, Sammy, I dunno if I should feel honoured or insulted. Is it because I was the easiest to manipulate? Were the others not worth the trouble?" The sarcasm Sam could hear in Dean's voice, barely concealed the hurt lying underneath. It showed clearly just how much damage Sam had done.

Sam suddenly felt very tired. This talk with Dean was painful and draining, and not going even remotely as he had hoped it would. He could have tried to defend himself, tried to explain himself, but he didn't. Because, in all honesty, Dean had been right that day, when he said there was no justification for what Sam had done. So Sam just asked quietly, "Why are you here, Dean?"

For the first time since Dean had stepped beside his bed, his eyes lowered from Sam's face. He looked down, shoulders slumping and his facial expression unreadable. "I'll be dammed if I know," he murmured.

Sam was about to say something else, to ask Dean if they maybe couldn't talk for real at another time, when his brother suddenly looked, up again, jaw set. "Your amulet works, just so you know."

A small, sad smile crept onto Sam's face at Dean's words. He had hoped Dean would wear his gift, and as it seemed it had even done him some good already. "Yeah, I know it does," Sam replied softly. "I wouldn't give you something that doesn't work. I don't want anyone to hurt you like this."

"No, you prefer to do it yourself," Dean added just as softly, and the pain and hopelessness those words held broke Sam's heart.

"I'd give anything to make this undone, Dean, but I can't," Sam whispered, throat burning with unshed tears. "I'm sorry that I hurt you. I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, me too," Dean replied tonelessly, before he turned and walked away.

oooooOooooo

'I must be out of my mind,' Dean thought as he made his way to Sam's room again, a few days later. 'I should have left right after that hunt. Right after I knew he would survive.' But he hadn't. Bobby had told him Sam would be released the next day and something in Dean urged him to go see his brother one last time. He'd make it clear that all further involvement in his life from Sam's side was unwelcome. Yes, that's what he would do.

When Dean neared Sam's room, he realized someone was in there already, talking to Sam. The door was slightly ajar and Dean was startled to hear his own name.

"…Dean will _never_ agree to that, Sam. And you're not up to going alone…" That was Bobby's voice, and Dean stepped into the room, clearly startling the two men inside.

"What will I never agree to? What are you planning?" he demanded to know, anger rising in his chest. What kinds of plans were those two making behind his back?

There was guilt written all over Sam's face and Bobby looked concerned, as they both focussed on Dean.

"I want to go back to hunting with you, Dean." Sam finally said and Dean's breath caught in his throat. Sam couldn't seriously think he would take him on a hunt, sleep with him in the same room or drive with him in the same car, after what he had done. But before Dean could reply anything, Sam spoke again, his voice desperate and pleading, "Please, Dean, think about it. I know you don't trust me any more and I know I've hurt you but, I'd like a chance to try and make things right. I know we can't go back to what we had but we could at least not be enemies any more. I…all I want is to prove that I'm sorry and that I won't hurt you again." His voice faltered but he didn't lower his eyes from Dean's face, he didn't back off. "I'd do _anything_ to regain your trust."

Dean was about to outright deny Sam, to tell him he was out of his mind if he thought he would be allowed to come with him, but he hesitated at the last moment. Something about the way Sam had said he would do anything to be allowed to prove himself, struck a chord in Dean. Maybe this was his chance to get Sam out of his head once and for all. Maybe this was the way to exorcise his own personal demon that came in the form of his baby brother. Maybe Sam had just unknowingly presented him with the answer to his problems. Maybe…

He was startled out of his thoughts when Bobby spoke up, addressing him, "I just told him that's a stupid idea, Dean, I told him…"

"Deal," Dean heard himself say, enjoying the dumbfounded looks on both Bobby's and Sam's faces. "(Under) On one condition, though. If you come with me, you have to do it on my terms. That means you do as I say, when I say it. I'm not taking any chances this time. I won't have you manipulate me again."

"Sam, I don't think…" Bobby started, but Dean interrupted him once more, searching Sam's eyes and holding his gaze.

"It's the only offer you'll get, Sam. Take it or leave it," Dean told his brother, enjoying this more than he probably should.

To his satisfaction, Sam nodded his head once, eyes never leaving Dean's face. "That's alright with me."

"Fine, then I'll pick you up tomorrow. Call me when they are ready to release you. I've found a new job and don't want to lose any more time," Dean ordered curtly and turned to go. He strode out of the room without looking back. Somehow he had the feeling that he had interesting weeks ahead of him. Yes, he'd get rid of the hold Sam still had over him, once and for all. And while doing so, he might even get a chance to pay back some of the heartache Sam had caused. Dean almost felt sorry for Sam. His brother had no idea what he had gotten himself into.

oooooOooooo

"I don't understand, Dean," Sam said when his brother opened the door to the motel room. To say he was surprised would be an understatement. There was only one room, with two beds in it. Usually that would have been nothing special, if it wasn't for the fact that for the last six weeks Sam had not been allowed to share a room with Dean. His brother had made him sleep in a separate room, while Sam had to pay for both of them. It was a signal of course, Sam had known that. It was Dean's way of saying, 'I don't trust you to be near me while I sleep.' It was also a test, Sam figured. A test to see if Sam really would do everything Dean asked of him.

Which was, truth be told, not as easy as Sam had imagined. He'd thought that being with Dean again after such a long time, being back on the road would help him ease into the situation. Turned out it didn't. Sure, hunting with Dean was still as natural as breathing, both of them slipping back into well practiced moves easily. While hunting, Dean seemed to forget he was angry at Sam, or that he didn't really trust him the rest of the time. Which surprised Sam, but he wasn't going to argue it. That was just the way things were. Hunting was different. It was like putting on a well fitting glove – smooth and easy. But as soon as the bones were salted and burned, the demon exorcised or the monster killed, Dean turned back into the cold and suspicious person he had been since he had picked Sam up from the hospital.

Well, the person he had been since he had regained his memories. Sam knew he deserved Dean's behaviour, he knew he deserved every single word and every single 'punishment' Dean chose to bestow on him. He'd earned it and he would accept it, whatever Dean decided to ask of him. Because the alternative was unthinkable. Sam knew he would never be able to live without Dean in his life, not if he wanted to have some semblance of happiness. That was why he had accepted Dean's 'offer' in the first place. But Sam had to admit he hadn't known what he was getting into. Not really anyway.

To be honest, when they had started this out, Sam hadn't expected to be made to sleep away from Dean. Do the laundry, get meals, do research, basically, do all the things Dean didn't want to and then some, yes that was what Sam had expected. Of course those things Dean had asked of him as well. And Sam complied. He never objected, never raised his voice, he did everything Dean asked of him without so much as batting an eye. Sam knew this was what it would take as a first step to regain Dean's trust. That he now obviously would be allowed back into one room with Dean was a first success and Sam cheered silently.

"What is there not to understand, Sam? I only got us one room. Now get in before I regret my decision," Dean huffed, shoving Sam through the door roughly. Sam suppressed a sigh, his brother's harsh treatment nothing new to him by now. Dean never had a kind word for him any more these days. Not that Sam had expected he would. It still hurt.

Sam unpacked his things, setting up the laptop at the table while Dean went and took a shower. That Dean would get the first shower went without saying, so Sam busied himself with laying salt-lines and securing the room. It was a great feeling to be able to do this for their shared room again and not just for the single he had been forced to sleep in lately. It gave Sam the illusion of 'normal' just for a little while. It would let him pretend things were like they had been before his manipulations had driven Dean away from him.

And of course he also did it because Sam didn't want for Dean to snap at him more than absolutely necessary.

When the door of the bathroom opened, Sam reflexively turned to look at Dean. His brother was only wearing a towel around his waist and there were water drops still clinging to his skin. He was towelling his hair not bothering to look at Sam as he walked over to his own bed. Sam swallowed hard. He was grateful Dean hadn't paid him any attention, since he couldn't explain the blush Sam was sure was gracing his cheeks. If the heat he could feel on his face was anything to go by, he had to be red as a tomato. Sam suppressed a groan. Damn, Dean hated him, but Sam's treacherous body was reacting to him nevertheless. It was something Sam had thought he'd had outgrown. Well, not exactly outgrown but at least had better under control. It seemed he was a bit out of practice in the 'sharing a room with Dean' department. Which somehow was to be expected after almost two years apart from Dean; aApart from temptation to be exact. Having a dripping wet, mostly naked Dean only a few feet away was definitely in a completely different league than talking to him twice a week. And even that had been torture in the beginning.

"What are you waiting for? Go take your shower. And make it quick, I want to go to bed," Dean's harsh voice pulled Sam out of his thoughts.

Sam complied, hurrying to get into the bathroom. It looked like he wouldn't have to worry about hot water, because after seeing Dean like that, he needed a cold shower anyway.

Locking the door behind himself carefully, Sam undressed quickly and stepped under the cool spray, no way was he going to jerk off with Dean just a few feet away. Grabbing the shower gel, Sam washed and dried himself in record time, remembering Dean's order to make it quick. By the time he came out of the bathroom, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, nothing indicated he had ever been aroused by the presence of his brother alone. He made his way over to his bed and Dean seemed to ignore him.

When Sam slipped under the covers though, ready to go to sleep, Dean was suddenly by his side. He stared down at Sam with a hard look in his eyes and Sam felt his insides knot. Maybe sleeping in the same room with Dean wasn't as much a success as he had hoped.

"Grip the headboard with your right hand, Sam," Dean snapped, his voice cold and harsh.

Sam was momentarily startled. What the hell was going on? Then he noticed the handcuffs Dean was holding. "What? No!" Sam protested, sitting up and looking at Dean who hadn't batted an eye.

"Sam, you are going to grip the damn headboard and let me cuff you, or you can sleep in another room again. Your choice, but I am not letting you near me while I sleep so you can take the amulet from me and manipulate me again, or whatever you plan on doing. So, _pick_, but do it quickly, 'cause I really do wanna go to sleep now," Dean's tone of voice made it clear that he was dead serious.

"What if I something happens? What if something gets in here and I am tied to the bed and helpless? I couldn't even get to my weapons if you do this." Sam tried to reason anyway, but Dean just smiled a cold, cruel smile.

"You are far from helpless, Sam, and we both know it. But if it makes you feel better, I'm gonna place one of the guns within reach, so you can use your psycho-mojo to get it if need be. I don't think you're gonna shoot me, are you?"

"Of course not!" Sam snapped, horrified that Dean would even think such a thing.

"Good, then get your hand on the headboard now, or do you want to get another room?" Dean's patience was clearly wearing thin.

Sam wordlessly placed his right hand on the metal headboard, trying not to wince when the cold steel of the handcuffs touched his skin. A moment later he had been securely attached to the bed. Sam suppressed a sigh. This was going to be a long night.

oooooOooooo

Sam sat on the bed, listening to the sounds of the running shower. Dean had been out again, hustling some pool, while Sam had been told to stay at the motel room. It was always the same lately. Dean would leave to 'get some money,' coming back smelling of alcohol, smoke and cheap perfume. Sam had never before thought himself jealous of the women Dean had sex with; knowing that they were insignificant and Dean would forget them right away. Lately however, Sam realized that he was irrationally angry about them, knowing that, no matter how short the time, they got to touch him _at all_.

Back then, before the night they had killed the yellow-eyed-demon, before everything had fallen apart, before Sam had willingly left the most important person in his life behind – back then it had been different. There had been slaps on the shoulder, brief touches to his neck, Dean holding him when a vision struck, and of course the inevitable patching up sessions after a hunt. Sam had never realized how _often_ he and Dean touched during a normal day. In hindsight, Sam realized it wasn't just a "living in each other's pockets" thing, it was much more.

During their time apart Sam had missed a lot of things, but being physically close to Dean surprisingly enough had not been one of them. That particular problem had only started since he was back to hunting with Dean again, and his brother wasn't touching him any more. At all. That fact, paired with the inappropriate arousal that seemed to take hold of Sam's body whenever Dean was close and less than fully dressed, made for a very frustrated and very lonely Sam Winchester.

The shower shut off and Sam knew Dean would emerge out of the bathroom any moment now. Despite knowing by now what to expect – a half naked, still damp Dean walking around the room – Sam couldn't help the reaction of his treacherous body. In fact, it seemed to get worse and worse the more time passed without being able to reach out and feel his brother again.

Fighting a blush and keeping his eyes firmly on the book that was lying on the bed in front of him, Sam tried his best to hide his arousal from Dean, who had stepped out of the bathroom. When Dean didn't walk by his bed and dress like he usually did, though, Sam finally looked up to meet his brother's eyes. He wondered what the matter was now.

"We could do it, you know," Dean said, out of the blue, his eyes slowly travelling down Sam's body, making him blush even more. Sam blinked confusedly. Dean's behaviour didn't really make any sense at all.

"We could do _what_, Dean?" Sam frowned, trying to decipher Dean's statement. To his great surprise, Dean's hands went to the knot holding the towel around his hips, undoing it. A predatory gleam entered his brother's eyes and if Sam hadn't seen him step effortlessly over the salt line protecting the room, Sam would have thought him possessed.

"We could fuck, Sam," Dean clarified and Sam's jaw dropped. But his brother just went on. "I've seen you looking, you know? The way you stare at me, the way you blush, the way you harden in your pants whenever I come close to you. You're turned on by me, Sam. Didn't think you had it in you, little brother. _Incest_, Sammy. That'll land us in hell. But I bet you're worth it."

Torn between fascination and horror, Sam watched as Dean pulled away the damp towel covering his groin, throwing it over onto the other bed. He stepped closer and Sam could smell the soap Dean had used and underneath, the scent that Sam identified as just _Dean_.

Feeling light-headed for a second, Sam closed his eyes briefly, before resting his gaze firmly on his brother's face rather than the erection that was right in front of him.

"Are you drunk? Did you take any drugs? Do you know what you're saying, Dean?" Sam asked, convinced that his brother was under some sort of influence or just completely out of his mind.

"I had a couple of beers, but that's it. Didn't want to risk not getting it up for you, little brother," Dean drawled, moving closer still.

Sam's breath caught in his throat, Dean was too close, too overwhelming, too irritating. Lowering his gaze down onto the book once more, Sam backed up on the bed, away from Dean and his disturbing presence.

"You planned this?" He mumbled, realisation dawning. Maybe this was just another way of punishment for Dean, another way to humiliate and hurt him. "You planned on fucking me tonight no matter what my answer would be? Is this what it's all about? Is this some sort of game to you? To humiliate me? To get back at me for hurting you?" Sam's voice rose, and he knew there was panic audible in his words. The thought of Dean making this part of the deal, part of the requirements he had to fulfil to be allowed to stay with Dean made his stomach turn.

Oh yes, he longed to touch Dean, he longed for it so badly. His fingers were itching to glide over Dean's chest, his arms, and the curve of his neck. He wanted to touch and taste and explore and yet the thought of being with Dean like this scared the hell out of him. Especially if Dean would make this a decision about staying or leaving.

When no immediate answer came, Sam carefully looked up to Dean again. His brother had a strange look on his face, something Sam couldn't quite decipher. Was he angry that Sam had asked that question? Was he insulted or amused? Sam couldn't tell.

"Answer me, Dean," Sam demanded, fear and anger coiling in his stomach making him want to flee the room. "Is sex part of the requirements for being allowed to stay with you? Do I have to leave if I say no to this?"

Dean seemed to finally snap out of it and his eyes fixed on Sam's face. "Of course not, Sam. No, it's _not_ part of the deal. If you don't wanna do this, I'm just gonna cuff you to the bed again and we go to sleep," his eyes were guarded and his tone had lost a bit of its seductiveness, but Sam wasn't fooled. Dean _wanted_ this to happen. Of that Sam was sure.

"Oh, okay… I … ah," Sam stammered, not sure what he actually wanted to say. But Dean interrupted him by placing a knee on the bed and slowly crawling towards him. His naked body was a sight to behold, muscles, toned from hunting, rippling under smooth skin.

Sam could feel Dean's breath ghosting over his face when his brother leaned over and whispered huskily, "I don't think you're gonna say no, Sam. I don't think you _want_ to say no. In fact, I think this is exactly what you want, what you've been longing for since we started hunting together again. You want to touch me, want to know what it's like to be with me…," he trailed off and Sam had to suppress a moan at his brother's words.

Dean was right. He _wanted_ this. He wanted to know what Dean's skin would taste like, what his hands would feel like on his skin. He knew he shouldn't want his own brother in that way, but he really was beyond caring. It wasn't just that he longed for human touch by now – which he did – it was_Dean's_ skin he wanted to explore.

Sam knew his desire must have shown on his face, his willingness to go ahead, because in the next moment Dean was grinning one of his smug grins, saying, "Yeah, I thought so."

Unsure of how to proceed, Sam looked at Dean expectantly. His brother seemed pleased by his reactions and Sam could feel him tugging at his T-shirt a moment later.

"Let's get down to business," Dean smirked, grabbing the book that was still on the bed with them and dropping it to the floor, before reaching for Sam's pants. Within seconds Sam found himself on his back, naked, the aroused, equally naked body of his brother on top of him.

Heat rushed through Sam and he moaned, shifting his hips to rub his erection against Dean's belly, bringing their bodies into even closer contact. This was what he had dreamt of for so long, this was what he wanted. Finally, finally he was going to experience first hand what it was like to be desired by Dean Winchester.

Sam knew this wouldn't miraculously solve all his problems, it wouldn't change the fact that he still had a long way ahead of him to gain back Dean's trust, but it was at least _something_. Something to take and cherish, something to hold onto, even if it was frail and twisted and Sam knew whatever it was they were doing, it had the potential to hurt him badly. To destroy him even. But he was willing to take that risk. He _needed_ to take that risk, for it was all he had. His chance to be close to Dean. And he would take this chance no matter the consequences.

Dean's face hovered right in front of him and Sam raised his head, intending to kiss him. He wanted to get a first taste of his brother's mouth, wanted those lips on his, but Dean turned away, biting the tender skin of Sam's collarbone roughly.

"I'm not your girlfriend, Sam," he drawled, voice deep and husky, but allowing no objection. "We don't need to kiss to have sex," Dean added and Sam felt his words like a blow to his stomach. Of course, no kissing; that was for actual girlfriends, not brothers that happened to be convenient and available. For a second Sam thought he couldn't do this after all, couldn't give himself over to Dean and his stroking, searching hands, knowing Dean didn't feel the same emotional connection he felt. That for Dean this was sex, it was physical relief, it was overstepping the last line, breaking the last taboo, it was just another thrill for someone used to the horror they faced every day.

But then Dean spoke again and Sam's concerns drowned in the way Dean's hot breath ghosted over his skin and the words that promised pleasure like he'd never felt before. "I'm gonna make you come so hard, Sammy," the voice whispered beside his ear, "I'm gone take you so high you'll never want to come down again. I'm gonna suck you dry and spread you open. I'm gonna bury myself in your tight little ass and fuck you so hard you'll feel it for days. I'm gonna make you see stars…"

Sam whimpered, overwhelmed by Dean's scent and his wandering hands on his skin, the way his brother seemed to hit every hot spot dead on. Even finding some Sam hadn't known he had. When Dean finally slid down Sam's body and took his cock down his throat in one swift motion, Sam was on the edge already. It didn't take more than a few sucks, a little humming and licking from his brother's talented mouth and Sam came, arching into the wet, moist heat that still surrounded his cock.

Dean looked smug when he finally released Sam's softening flesh from his mouth, before he rolled to lie beside Sam. He propped his head up on one hand, watching Sam closely. "You ever been fucked before by a man, Sam?" he finally asked, hand wandering to play with the skin behind Sam's balls.

Sam swallowed. Time to confess. "I…um, I've had a boyfriend, back then. The first time I went to college, I mean. I…It didn't last. He didn't want anyone to know and I didn't want to live like that. I didn't want to hide," Sam said. Simon had been a great guy, but he wasn't ready for anyone to know he was gay and Sam was tired of lying. He was tired of hiding away a part of himself, tired of pretending and sneaking around and not being able to let anyone know he was in love.

Dean grinned. "So you're playing for both sides, huh?" he said, rubbing his fingers lightly over Sam's entrance. "That's good. So you know what's coming. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind virgins, but it's so much easier this way…"

At his words, Sam swallowed again heavily. It had literally been years since he had bottomed. Knowing what was coming wasn't going to help much. If Dean decided to rush prep-work this was going to get unpleasant really fast.

Some of his concerns must have shown on his face because Dean grinned once again before leaning over to whisper into Sam's ear. "Don't worry, Sam. Gonna open you up and bury myself so deep in you. I'm not that much of a bastard to take you when you're not ready. In fact, I think I'm gonna make you beg for me to take you. I'm gonna make you mad with desire and when I'm done with you, you're gonna beg for my cock." He moved down to lick one of Sam's nipples before biting it gently and Sam had to suppress a groan. Who would have thought that his body was capable of feeling so much pleasure, so soon after his first orgasm? Dean talking dirty to him was an incredible turn on as well. If Dean kept this up, Sam suspected he'd be hard again in no time at all.

Of course, Dean noticed his reaction as well. "You like that, huh? Admit it, Sammy. It's turning you on to hear what I'm gonna do to you. How good I'm gonna make you feel, how deep I'm gonna bury myself in you. Do you want to know what else I'm gonna do to you? How I'm gonna fuck you open with my fingers while I swallow you down, making you hard again?"

This time, Sam did groan. His hands fisted in Dean's hair as his brother kept licking and sucking his way down Sam's chest.

"You ready for the next step?" Dean asked in a husky voice, looking up from where he had been nuzzling Sam's crotch.

"Please," Sam replied, not caring how he sounded. This was what he'd waited for, what he'd fantasized about. That was Dean's mouth and Dean's hands on his skin and it felt better than he could have imagined. It was worth the consequences, worth the humiliation and emotional pain Sam was sure would follow. At this time and this place, he didn't care about the consequences, all he wanted to do was _feel_.

The grin on his brother's face was arrogant as he leaned over to grab the bag that was lying on the floor between the two beds. He searched around in it for a moment before fishing out a tube of lube and a condom. "Told you, you'd be begging. And I didn't even start yet," he drawled, dropping the items on the bed.

Sam heard the cap of the lube snap open and a moment later a slick finger was pressing against his hole. Sam gasped. It'd been a long time.

"Relax, Sammy, I'm not gonna hurt you," Dean promised as the pressure grew and the tip of Dean's finger slipped into him.

Taking a deep breath, Sam tried to do as he had been told and relax as much as possible. He knew after such a long time, it would take some getting used to again. Sam could only hope Dean would keep his word and would not rush things.

When Sam felt Dean's mouth close over his oversensitive cock, he knew Dean intended to at least keep _that_ promise and suck him while preparing him. Sam wasn't so sure he was glad about that. Dean's tongue seemed to be too rough on his spent cock, the tight heat so uncomfortable it was almost painful.

"Dean, Dean stop. That's too soon," Sam breathed, carefully lifting his brother's head from his lap.

"Tender?" Dean smirked, a knowing smile gracing his swollen, glistening lips.

"Yeah, could you …you know…not do that? Everything else is fine, but I don't think I can stand being touched there right now." Sam asked Dean in a low voice.

"Sure, Sam, I'm just gonna find something else to…suck on," Dean murmured, and a moment later Sam felt Dean's tongue lapping at his balls.

Sam sighed, hands fisting in the sheets beneath him as his world narrowed to the spot between his legs where Dean was sucking and licking him and where his finger was now exploring his ass. Soon, a second finger joined the first one and once again Sam did his best to relax into the feeling of being entered and stretched.

Dean hit his prostate dead on for several times, sending liquid fire up Sam's spine and Sam couldn't help but gasp, "more."

"You'll get more, Sam. Tell me what you want. Tell me and you'll get it. Tell me what you want me to do to you, Sammy," Dean demanded, voice low and husky.

"Take me, Dean," Sam replied, aroused by Dean's demand. "I want you to …" _make love to me_ Sam thought, but caught himself in time. "…fuck me. I want that cock of yours up my ass."

Sam knew he was giving in to Dean's wishes, was yielding to him in a way that was most probably unwise. Sam also knew it would do him more harm than good in the end. It would even hurt more and add to his humiliation when reality caught up with him. And in the light of day it would only have been sex. For Dean, there were no feelings involved, but a tiny part of Sam stupidly refused to acknowledge that. That part of him that kept holding on, hoping against hope that one day, somehow, Dean would feel more for him than just… lust and desire.

Fingers being pulled from his ass brought Sam back to the here and now and he watched as Dean got up, wiping his hands on the sheets and reaching for the condom.

"Told you, you'd be begging for my cock," he commented arrogantly, before he slapped Sam's thigh lightly.

"Get on your hands and knees, Sammy, and I'll see what I can do about the fucking part," Dean said and Sam's stomach clenched. Hands and knees…of course. Turned away from Dean, unable to see his face. Sam had never really liked that position all that much, feeling strangely disconnected from his partner. But he wouldn't object, he told himself firmly.

So Sam scrambled to his hands and knees in front of Dean, opening his legs a bit further so Dean could comfortably slip between them. A moment later, Sam felt the slick fingers return to his entrance, pushing in.

A third finger joined the two already moving inside of him and the slight burn of being stretched intensified. Sam took a deep breath and told himself that this was what he'd wanted all along. This was Dean, the one person he'd desired for such a long time now.

When the fingers left his ass this time, he didn't have time to feel bereft, instead an instant later something larger was pushed into him, making him gasp. It didn't exactly _hurt_ but it was a long way from comfortable. It burned and stung slightly and Sam had to consciously relax again, resisting the urge to pull away from the sensation of being stretched uncomfortably.

Slowly, Dean pushed all the way into Sam's body, stopping every once in a while to give Sam time to adjust to the intrusion. By the time Dean was sheathed in Sam completely, both of them were panting heavily and drenched in sweat. Sam still wasn't hard again completely, but the feeling of his brother's cock inside of him sent jolts of pleasure up his spine. The uncomfortable feeling had vanished, leaving only a sense of fullness behind.

Then Dean began to move and Sam's universe once more narrowed down to the point where their bodies were joined. Dean pulled back out of him almost completely, only to plunge in deep, a moment later. Pleasure built as Dean's movements got more jerky and forceful, driving deeper into Sam's body than he had ever before. It wasn't always comfortable, but Sam just dropped his head onto the bed in front of him, raising his ass even higher, letting Dean take what he wanted.

Suddenly Dean reached around. His hand gripped Sam's newly awakened cock in a firm hold, pumping him in time with his thrusts. Sam's world greyed out around the edges and he could feel his own orgasm near. Dean was still driving into him relentlessly, whispering words like, 'fucking hot', 'so tight' or 'gonna make you come' into Sam's ear.

"Come for me, Sam," Dean suddenly ordered, before biting down hard on Sam's neck – and Sam did just that. The mixture of pleasure/pain paired with Dean's husky command and the fingers tugging on his cock sent him right over the edge.

Dean came a second later, driving into Sam's willing body two more times before stiffening and collapsing on top of Sam.

Sam felt strangely disappointed that he couldn't feel Dean's come inside of him, even though he had known Dean was using a condom. Somehow the lack of 'evidence' made the whole ordeal more…unreal. It also felt more…impersonal, even though Sam knew this was a silly thought and he should be grateful Dean had used protection. There was no way of knowing who Dean had had sex with during the last few weeks alone. He could have caught god knew what.

With a grunt Dean rolled off Sam's body, taking away the warmth and reassuring weight Sam had enjoyed more than he would admit. Turning his head slightly, Sam watched as Dean disposed of the condom and made his way over to the bathroom to clean up. When he came back out again, he grinned at Sam, looking smug and well and thoroughly fucked.

"That was fun. We should do it again, soon," he grinned before he reached for his boxers and pulled them on.

"Yeah. Sure. Why not," Sam replied, turning away from Dean and swallowing around the lump that was suddenly closing up his throat. 'You knew it would be like this. You knew it didn't mean anything to him, when you agreed to this. You have no reason to feel hurt' Sam told himself firmly, but his eyes burned and his chest ached.

The handcuffs landed on the bed beside his feet with a dull thud and Dean's voice interrupted Sam's thoughts.

"I'll give you some time to clean up and get ready for bed, alright? But we should go to sleep soon, so don't take too long. I think we both need our rest," Dean said casually.

Pressing his face deeper into the pillow beneath him, Sam tried to regain a grip on his feelings. He didn't trust his voice just yet.

Thankfully Dean didn't seem to expect a reply as he roamed around the room, leaving Sam to gather himself in peace.

Sam knew his life had just gotten so much more complicated – and it was his own damn fault.


End file.
